Hunger Games, Peeta's View
by The-Mockingjay-Games
Summary: The Hunger Games through the eyes of the Boy with the Bread.
1. The Beginning

**CHAPTER 1**

**{*.*.*.*.*.*}**

I wake with a start, my eyes scanning the room for any signs of familiarity. As I slowly take in my surroundings, I remember. Today is the day, The Reaping. Some would say it is a day to celebrate. Usually, the only people saying that are those who cover their entire skin in dyes and tattoos. But for others, it is a day of preparation. Preparing for the possibility that for us, our odds will not be in our favour.

On a normal day in District twelve, I would rise early. My 18 year old brother Grayhem would charge into my room, shake me out of my slumber, and leave me to watch as a cloud of flour settles in his tracks. My head would clear to the sound of jabberjays, as my eyes would adjust to the dim light of the morning.

After changing into my bakery clothes, I would creep down the stairs to the bakery. The sole luxury of having a merchant father is the two storied house. But the grumbling stomach is evident enough that being a townie is no luxury. My father usually bounces around, organising the shop for the day, while Grayhem would stand at the counter with an amused look on his face. Grayhem tends to bark orders at Arthum, my other brother, who hastily obeys, bustling around the shop. When my brothers were born, my father gradually taught them to bake, so that one day, they could take over the bakery. The same happened for me. I have been able to bake a loaf of bread since I was five. Ever since, I have worked in the bakery.

In the mornings, my father wakes early as well. He is a kind man, the quiet type, who hates awkward situations. My mother would sleep until she deems necessary, only waking early on days such as today. Our small house is built above the bakery, which my father owns and runs. So if a loud noise is made, which tends to happen a lot in a bakery, my mother would hear it. The rest of the day would be spent with welts or bruises on our bodies, a result of my mother's anger.

Grayhem would work over the register my father bought from the Capitol, giving discounts to all the pretty girls who come to the bakery. My father would help occasionally out the front, but mostly out the back with Arthum and I. Arthum runs the ovens, baking them to perfection. Father makes the dough and pastries, while I decorate. Don't get me wrong, I love to frost the cakes. But my brothers tend to joke about how I got the 'woman's' job in the bakery. My brothers, incapable of thinking that... wait, I probably should have stopped at 'thinking'.

Anyway, today is no normal day. Today, instead of working early then heading to school, we work later, then head to the reaping. As I make my way downstairs, I ponder over thoughts of the reaping. Will I be called? What if Arthum is called? What would I do if he was called? What about me? Will I survive the games? What am I thinking? I cannot afford to think such dubious thoughts. The sharp smell of burnt bread wafts up the staircase towards me, shaking me from my thoughts. I bound down the rest of the stairs, two at a time, to reach the source of the smell. Arthum must still be getting ready for work, because he isn't downstairs yet. My father isn't in sight either. But Grayhem is leaning casually over the counter, talking to a pretty girl in a bright blue dress. She smiles sweetly at Grayhem, who then idly tucks a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. She giggles and blushes, batting her eyelids so hard that I'm scared they may fall off. Grayhem must have put a loaf of bread in the oven, and then must have been _distracted._

"Grayhem, what's that smell?" I ask, a little too innocently.

Grayhem curses under his breath, then bounds across to the ovens. He brings out the bread, attempting to fix the scorched loaf. He curses again, chucking the hard bread onto the counter.

"Take this out to the pigs, why don't ya?" he says gruffly, trying to clean the soot off the ovens.

"Alright Grayhem" I sigh. On any normal day, sarcastic remarks and jibes would be bouncing off the walls at each other. But today, everyone is nice to each other. With the possibility that Arthum or I may be reaped, we try to stay calm.

As I make my way outside towards the pig pens, I try to force away the waves of déjà vu. Without success, my mind fills with the girl with the scared grey eyes.

_My mother was helping in the bakery that night. Although what she was doing couldn't really be called helping. She stalked around, bossing me and my brothers to do whatever she said. As it started to rain, she went to bring in the soaked clothes that were hanging to dry. As I put two loafs of bread into the fiery ovens, the yelling started. I wasn't expecting it, so I ran to see what was happening. As I got closer, I started to make out a figure standing frozen, next to our bin. I moved cautiously closer, moving ever so slightly behind my mother's back, just to be sure. As I registered some of the words my mother was shouting, such as 'Seam filth', and 'Peacekeepers', I noticed her._

_Offcourse. It had to be her._

_Her dark hair was plastered to her frail face from the rain. Her thin fingers clutched the trash lid, white from the cold. I remember my reaction to seeing her, so close to my home. She had looked so fragile, that I wanted to wrap her in my arms and never let go. As she slowly replaced the lid, still rigid with fright, her gray eyes flickered to me. My heart skipped a beat, as I took in the girl I was so fascinated by for years, standing so close. I had always noticed her at school, but ever since that day she sang in front of our class, I was a goner. Her eyes lingered on mine, as a flash of recognition crossed her face. She slowly backed away from my mother and I, fear returning to her eyes. My mother returned to the bakery, ordering me to get the bread out of the ovens. But I stayed and watched the girl with the fascinating gray eyes trudged to the pen that held our pigs. I watched as Katniss Everdeen slumped against a tree, looking so weak. I panicked. I was filled with the urge to help Katniss, although she probably didn't even know my name. Me, Peeta Mellark, a townie. Why would she want to even know me? I ran back inside to the ovens. The brown loaves sat just high enough above the flames on a shelf, not to be scorched. As I pushed the bread into the flame, the shelf toppled down, creating a loud clatter. My mother came running, screeching accusations at me as she fished the bread out of the flames. All that was running through my mind was the image of Katniss, slumped in the rain, and the urge to help her. Out of nowhere, my mother grabbed the metal pole used to place the bread in the ovens. She swung it, and pain swelled across my cheekbone. I grabbed the bread, and ran outside. The images of Katniss filled my mind as I sloshed towards the pen. My mother was screaming at me, but the pain was blinding._

"_Feed it to the pig you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burnt bread!"_

_I tore off chunks from the burnt parts and tossed them into the trough, as my mother went to help a customer. I considered talking to Katniss, trying to help, but I didn't have enough courage. I threw the first loaf of bread in her direction, hesitating slightly to see if she would grab it. I took my chances and threw the other, quickly returning to the bakery. I watched quietly from a slight crack in the door, as she stared at the loaves, a look of disbelief plain on her face. She shoved the bread under her jacket, clutching it tight. I wished I could have given her more. I wished I could have given her everything._

_At school, she would walk past in the hall, and I would try my hardest not to stare at her. I tried so hard to not acknowledge her but that afternoon, as a stared at her, she caught my eye. I panicked at being caught looking, so I turned away. But not before I saw her bend down and pick a dandelion. _

I shook my head as of to rid them of the memories. As I slowly returned to the bakery, I noticed that it was much busier. My father is bustling around, trying to provide for the swelling crowd of customers. Grayhem takes orders then shouts loudly to Arthum. At the sight of me, Arthum releases a sigh of relief.

"Where have you been? Grayhem has been barking orders at me nonstop!" he says, raising his voice slightly over the crowd.

"Feeding the pigs. Grayhem burnt another loaf this morning." I say.

Arthum's eyes bulge at this. "He is so idiotic sometimes Peeta." He says.

"Who is?" a voice behind me says. I turn to find Grayhem standing behind us, a smirk on his face.

Before either of us could answer, he says "Hurry up. There are people waiting. We have four hours to bake as much bread as we can before the reaping starts."

Arthum turns to me, rolling his eyes, causing me to laugh.

"I wonder what the arena will be this year." He asks me.

"Let's talk about this later Arthum. Grayhem's right. We need to have everything ready." I say.

The reaping is at two, so there are usually crowds trying to buy bread. After the reaping, everyone is expected to celebrate. And they usually do, out of relief that their children are 'safe' for another year. Every family, except two. Every district has to provide two 'Tributes'. One boy and one girl are selected at random, from the ages 12 through 18.

Why?

To fight to the death.

**{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}**


	2. Prim

Chapter 2

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

As I finish the last cake, I delicately place the cake on the display shelf. It is getting close to one before I hear my mother's shrill voice.

"Peeta, Arthum, hurry up and get ready. You have to look presentable! And for god's sake, take a shower!" she screeches.

I jog upstairs to find my brother, silently standing next to my bed. My mother has laid white shirts and dark trousers for Arthum and I, pressed and crinkle free. Arthum sighs, deep in thought. I pass Arthum to head to the bed, disrupting his thoughts.

"Hey Peeta?" Arthum asks.

"Mmm?" I reply, busying myself with the clothing.

"What will I do? I mean, if I'm picked? The only talent I have is baking bread and pastries. And unless the Arena is a massive cake this year..." he says.

I look at him. He looks so much like my mother. He has deep, brown eyes and an angular face. But he has father's hair. We all do- messy, blonde hair which flicks into our eyes. I look into his brown eyes, as he looks into my blue. I walk over and hug my brother.

"Arthum, I know that if the situation comes to that, you will figure it out. You're smart, Arthum. Remember that." I say positively.

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

After bathing and preparing, the rest of the afternoon is spent in uneasy tension often associated with the Hunger Games.

Shortly before two, we made our way to the town square. Already, the square was crowded, riddled with peacekeepers. Camera crews and photographers are station at different positions around the square, scanning the crowd and focusing on the stage. Bright banners are hanging from the buildings surrounding the square, but the mood is still grim. As Arthum and I sign in, I catch sight of Katniss Everdeen. I can't help but think about how breathtakingly beautiful she is. Her hair is braided beautifully down her back, and a soft blue dress flows silently around her. Arthum laughs as he follows my line of sight. He knows how I feel about Katniss.

I shake my head and concentrate on the fact that my mother is attempting to hug me. She awkwardly places her arms around me in an attempt of compassion, before stepping back for my father and Grayhem. Grayhem gives me a sad smile, and then averts his eyes to the stage. As my father hugs me, he gives me a small squeeze of encouragement.

I turn away from my family, and head towards the roped area for sixteen year olds. Arthum trudges slowly to the eighteen year olds, staring at his hands. I turn and notice family members, tightly huddling together surrounding us. I notice some of the sixteen year olds from school as I wait. We all give terse nods in recognition, but then focus our attention to the temporary stage built in front of the Justice Building. Occupying the stage are three chairs, a podium, and two glass bowls, one for boys and one for girls. I glance at the bowl for boys, containing five slips for Peeta Mellark. I close my eyes, and attempt to calm my breathing. I banish any thoughts of Arthum's name being drawn, or even Katniss's.

Just as the Justice Buildings clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium. It's the same speech every year. He tells the history of Panem, the country that was formed after the fall of the former called North America. He lists the disasters, natural and humane, and the brutal war. The result was Panem, a Capitol ringed by thirteen districts. Then came the dark days, when the districts rebelled against the capital. Twelve were defeated, one destroyed. As a reminder of the Dark Days, and that they must never happen again, the Hunger Games were born.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," drones the mayor.

As he reads the list of the past District 12 victors (only two in seventy-four years) Haymitch Abernathy staggers onto stage. He is the last remaining victor, and tends to confine alcohol for his problems. I always have felt sorry for Haymitch. I watch as he attacks Effie Trinket, but am surprised to find he only wanted a hug. Distressed, the Mayor invites Effie to the podium. Effie Trinket is always overly happy and bubbly, which makes me constantly want to bring my hand forcefully to my face. Her outfits cease to amaze me with their outrageous colours and designs. As she trots to the podium, she gives an attempt of a warm smile. I haven't ever disliked Effie, but I have never been very fond of her either. She says her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be_ ever _in your favour!" in a sing song voice, and continues into a small speech about having the honour to represent District 12. But my attention has snapped to the face of Gale Hawthorne, standing with the eighteens. His face is turned ever so slightly in Katniss's direction, but his eyes seek hers. I have always known that Gale loves Katniss, but every time I see him looking, I struggle to resist the urge to fight for her attention. But she would be oblivious. She IS oblivious to how all the boys feel about her. A small sigh escapes my lips, which attracts glances from surrounding boys. I am drawn back to reality by Effie, saying, "Ladies first!" as she crosses to the glass bowls. I watch in anticipation as she reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. Two words rush through my head. Not her. Not her. Not Katniss. Effie walks back to the podium, smoothing the slip of paper. As she reads out the name, my breathe catches. It's not Katniss. It's worse.

It's Primrose Everdeen. Katniss's sister.


	3. Surprise

Chapter 3

I do not own the Hunger Games

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

I had imagined so many possible outcomes today. Who might be picked, what will happen to them. But I failed to consider the worst. Prim. The one person Katniss cares about most. I see it in the way she looks at her. Primrose loves the cakes I decorate, and I often watch as she drags Katniss over to look at them. I watch Katniss. Katniss watches Prim. Katniss waits patiently as Prim shouts in delight, joy plain on her face. The love for Prim in Katniss's eyes is so evident, that I know that Katniss is willing to sacrifice **anything **for Prim. Anything.

I force myself to focus, to search for Katniss. To stop her from what I know she is about to do. But I can't concentrate. I know Gale will be trying to stop Katniss, but he is standing with the eighteens, too far away. I am vaguely aware of Prim, who has already walked halfway towards the stage. My eyes graze over the crowd, pausing to look at Gale. He face is set in a mask of shock, eyes searching for Katniss once again. When my eyes finally reach Katniss, I see her start, as if forcing her mind to focus. Before I have a chance to stop her, she cries out.

"Prim!"

Her voice pierces the silence that had settled over the square, drawing attention immediately.

"Prim!"

Just as Prim is about to climb the steps, Katniss reaches her, forcing Prim behind her.

"I volunteer!" she cries, attempting to shield Prim with her body.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

Confusion spreads through the crowd, bringing unease with it. My heart sinks. Not her. Please let this be a nightmare.

But no. I watch as Katniss, the girl with the scared gray eyes, makes her way towards the stage.

"Lovely!" I hear Effie chirp, apparently having composed herself rather quickly.

"I believe there is a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth than we, um..." she trails off. But my attention is on Katniss. Prim clutches to her back, wailing out Katniss's name.

"What does it matter?" interrupts the Mayor, forcing me to focus once more. "What does it matter? Let her come forward" he continues.

By now, Prim is in hysterics. I watch helplessly as she clutches Katniss, unwilling to let go.

"No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"She wails, her strangled cries ringing through the square.

Katniss murmurs something to Prim, asking her to let go. I continue to watch as Gale picks up Prim, hoisting her over his shoulder. With a small remark to Katniss, he retreats back to Mrs Everdeen, handing over Prim. Water begins to blur my vision, but I force myself not to be weak. I have to be strong. Pain seeps through my hand, cause me to wince. I look down to see that my nails have pierced the skin of my clenched hand.

"Well, bravo!" gushes Effie. "That's the spirit of the Games!"

Sometimes, Effie Trinket makes me want to vomit.

"What's your name?" she asks Katniss.

"Katniss Everdeen." She replies curtly. I can see she is fighting back tears, willing herself to be strong. Probably for Prim.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" calls Effie Trinket.

And I have to give a lot of credit to District 12, because nobody claps. No one. We all know Katniss, and we certainly do not want to lose her. And I definitely don't want to lose her. But as the silence echoes around the town square, it practically screams 'We do not agree!' in a bold act of defiance. But then, something unexpected happens. One man touches the three middle fingers of his left to his lips, and then holds it out to Katniss. But the man doing it is the biggest surprise. It is my Father.

Then another woman, then two men, then almost every member in the crowd is honouring Katniss. The simple act means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love. And at that, I raise my left hand to my lips, and then hold it out to Katniss, willing her to know.

I can see that Katniss is struggling not to cry now, but fortunately Haymitch decides to stagger across the stage towards Katniss.

"Look at her. Look at this one!" he hollers, putting an arm around her shoulders. I have a sudden urge to go up there and throw his arm off of her.

"I like her!" he continues. "Lots of...spunk!" he says, rather proud of himself. "More than you!" he sputters, staggering forward to the front of the stage.

"More than you!" he shouts again, pointing directly at the camera. He is getting dangerously close to the edge when I start to worry he might fall. As if hearing my thoughts, he plummets of the stage, knocking himself unconscious. Poor guy.

As Haymitch is carried away on a stretcher, Effie continues.

"What an exciting day!" she says, attempting to save her wig. But she is right. This is probably the most eventful reaping District 12 has ever had.

"But more excitement to come! It's time to announce our boy tribute!" she continues, crossing to the ball for the boys. I tense, realizing what is about to happen. Just like every year, I brace myself for the worst. But I find myself hoping that whoever is drawn, will protect Katniss. With their life.

Effie grabs the first slip she encounters, obviously trying to move the ceremony along. She is back at the podium, reading the name before I have a chance to breathe.

"Peeta Mellark!" she calls, looking out into the crowd for the name owner.

Even though I try my hardest, I know that shock is evident on my face. Me. That's me! I turn quickly, noticing the faces looking my way. I catch sight of my family. Grayhem is in shock, not even attempting to hide it. My father is very pale, swaying slightly. But my mother just glares at me, jolting her head vigorously to the side. I suddenly realise that she is gesturing for me to take the stage. I slowly make my way to the forward, still trying to hide my shock. When they televise the replay of the reapings tonight, I don't want to look like a coward.

Then it hits me. The force of it takes my breath away. I realize once again who is standing on the stage, looking at me now. Katniss. I need to protect Katniss. No matter what it takes, she needs to come home. For Prim. Why is she looking at me like that? It's almost as if she is saddened to see me picked. Pictures of her as a child, scared and hungry flash across my eyes again. I am suddenly alarmed that, in the current situation, all I can think of is her. I know I am relieved that Arthum wasn't picked, but all I can feel is determination. To get Katniss home safe.

Sometime through my thoughts, Effie asked for volunteers. Nobody came forward. I know Grayhem is too old, and I don't expect Arthum to step forward. Family devotion only goes so far, and I'd rather it be me than him.

I have made my way steadily to the stage, taking my place near Katniss. I can see her watching me, and I force down the giddiness I feel at the sight of her eyes. But as the mayor begins to read the long, rather boring Treaty of Treason, she continues to glance at me. I can tell she is deep in thought; just by the way she stands. She stands straight, but she is not aware of her surroundings like she was a few minutes ago. I desperately want to know what she is thinking, to know what is going on in her head. _What are you talking about? _I ask myself. _She is probably thinking about how to kill you! _

The mayor finishes the long Treaty of Treason, and motions for Katniss and I to shake hands. My heart flutters as I step closer, and stare into her gray eyes. I reach for her hand, and clasp it in mine. Her hand is soft and small in my hand, giving a sense of frailness that I know is not true. I attempt to squeeze her hand, to reassure her that I will protect her, that I will get her home. But it felt more like a nervous spasm than a reassuring squeeze.

We turn back to the crowd, the anthem of Panem blaring through the mobile speakers in the crowd. The feel of Katniss's hand stays in my palm, and I close my fist, willing to hold onto her touch.

The moment the anthem ends, we are taken away from the celebration. We are led by a group of Peacekeepers to the front door of the Justice Building. Once we are inside, I see Katniss conducted to a room on the left, the door being closed behind her. I am led to a room on the right, finally left alone. The room inside is the fanciest place I have seen, even for District 12. The carpets are plush and deep, the couches and chairs covered in velvet. I kneel down to run my hand across the carpets, and let out a laugh. It is so soft; I have to resist the urge to lie down on the ground. I stroke the carpet, letting my mind soar. An hour has been allocated to the tributes to say goodbye to their loved ones, and we are then whisked to the Capitol. I hear the door opening, allowing my first visitor to enter. I half expected my family to enter first or maybe even Jaxon, and my friends from school. But no.

My first visitor is none other than Gale Hawthorne.

**Author's Note**

**Hey Guys. **

**Please please please review for me **

**It will help me write faster!**

**And I'm not sure if I should keep going...**

**So PLEASE review and let me know **


	4. I promise

Chapter 4

I do not own the Hunger Games

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

I should have guessed that Gale would be here. He needs Katniss. He loves her. I can tell by the way he stares at her. But it was still a surprise to see him here, awkwardly hovering near the door. I can tell by the way he stands that he is uncomfortable, and would rather be talking to Katniss, but I know he needs to talk to me.

"Peeta." He says.

"Gale." I reply curtly.

"I'm...ah... sorry you were picked." He says, attempting to be courteous.

"Um...thank you." I say, unsure.

To my surprise, an awkward silence falls over us. I don't know what I thought would happen. Maybe Gale would threaten me. Yell until I promise to get Katniss home. But Gale stares at the carpet, fiddling with his hands, while I concentrate on the door, begging for someone else to enter.

Minutes pass, and not another word is said. After what seems like an eternity, a peacekeeper enters informing Gale that his time is up. Gale, as if suddenly aware of where he is, stutters "If you hurt her..."

"I won't!" I protest.

"You have to protect her!"

"I know" I reply, trying to assure him that that is what I plan to do.

Promise me Peeta." He says, turning back over his shoulder as he is led out. "Promise me that you will do whatever it takes!"

He hesitates with his next word, obviously reluctant to say it.

"Please..." he says, making direct eye contact with me.

I would never have thought that Gale Hawthorne would say 'please' to me. Never. But this **is** Katniss we are dealing with.

"I promise." I say, but he is already gone.

I have already decided that I will try to get Katniss home to District 12. To Prim. To Mrs Everdeen. But I have to admit, I never thought of bringing her home to Gale. It doesn't make me smile, the way he looks at her. But she is happy around him. And I want her to be happy, always. I know that if she is to return, I obviously won't be. But I guess I already knew that didn't I? We both can't return right? There is only ever one Victor. I knew that when I decided to protect her. I guess it is only dawning on me now that if she returns to District 12, Gale will be there waiting for her, not me.

I am still muddled up in my thoughts when the door opens again. Jaxon Ridge, Madge Undersee, and a few friends from school enter, including Delly Cartwright, Via Misti and Ashter Ridge. Madge immediately runs to me, engulfing me in a hug. She is soon replaced by Jaxon and Ashter, my two best friends. Delly and Via both hug me and kiss my cheek, tears streaming down their faces. The time spent with my friends flies by, filled with tears, hugs and pointless apologies. As the Peacekeepers lead my friends out, I catch a glimpse of Katniss's room across the hall on the left. I see Katniss, clutching her arms at the elbows over her stomach, what she tends to do when she is upset or distraught. I see Madge slip into her room, just as her door closes.

Suddenly I am aware of somebody running at me. Arthum has come to visit me. He is followed by My Father, Grayhem, and I catch a glimpse of my Mother before I am bombarded by hugs. Arthum sobs quietly into my shoulder, having always been the caring one. But I don't want their pity right now. What I want most now is for my family to be strong for me. And Grayhem does exactly that. His face is grim as he gives me a quick hug, but he steps back to let my father through. I see him comfort Arthum for me, keeping a strong arm around his shoulder. My Father's eyes are rimmed with red, and his face is damp. He embraces me, whispering in my ear as he does so.

"Strong. Be strong."

I give my father a squeeze and step back. My mother approaches me. I try my best to smile as I give her a hug. She stiffly places her arms around me, awkwardly hugging me. She attempts a smile when we break apart.

The rest of the time was spent talking, hugging and talking strategies. Grayhem talks survival with me, well as much as he knows anyway. My mother talks about presenting myself well, and reminds me to bathe as much as possible. But I remind her that fighting to death with 23 other people might distract me every now and then, but I will try my hardest to bathe. She really has no idea.

"Maybe District 12 will have a winner this year." She says.

I can't believe it. I think my mother just encouraged me. Is this a joke? I smile at her. An actual smile. She smiles at me, and places her hand in my father's.

"Maybe" my father says.

"She's a survivor, that one." She continues.

My smile drops of my face. My stomach has a sinking feeling in it, as I realise what she means. Katniss is a survivor. She's right. I'm just a baker.

Try as I might to stay strong, when my family leaves, I cry. They are led out by Peacekeepers, Arthum sobbing again. Grayhem tries to shout helpful tips as he leaves, but I don't take in any of it. I only took in the fact that I may never see my family again.

Katniss and I are taken quickly out of the Justice Building and put into separate cars. I only saw dark locks of hair disappear into the car, but I knew it was her. It's a quick drive to the train station, and it was my first time in a car. Living in the town has its advantages, but never such luxuries as this. We only ever walk, or occasionally by carriage or wagons.

When we arrive at the train station, it is swarming with cameras. I knew I look like I have been crying, but I honestly don't care. I am being me, not someone the capitol wants me to be. They can't change me. They won't change me.

The cameras are trained on our faces, taking in our every move. I sneak a peek at Katniss, and see that she has wiped her face clean of emotions. Reporters shout and cameras flash as we make our way to the train. We are required to stand in the doorway of the train, so the cameras can capture the 'moment'. I am acutely aware of Katniss next to me; standing so close in the doorway, looking as though she is lost in her thoughts. She is so beautiful. I shake my head slightly, but not enough to draw attention to it. _Snap out of it Peeta_ I think to myself.

Finally we are at ease behind the train doors, but the seconds of relief are replaced by a flash of fear. The train has started to move now, forcing us to grab hold of the train walls. The speed shocks me at first, and I can tell Katniss is surprised as well. Offcourse neither of us has been on trains, as travel between districts is forbidden. But this train is different. It is one of those high-speed Capitol models that average 250 miles per hour. Our journey to the Capitol will go quickly, but already I am uncomfortable. Travelling and I do not mix. Being confined to the carriages of the train will drive me mad. Imagine that. I reckon I would be the first tribute to be driven mad before entering the arena.

As I start to become accustomed to the speed, I start to walk through our carriage. This train is fancy. Very fancy. There is a door at the end of the carriage, which my guess leads to the Kitchen. The area opens into a living area compartment. Sofas are placed in front a massive television. Small tables are placed around the area, for beverages and snacks.

In the next compartment, a long dining table is laid with very expensive dishes. It is surrounded my plush, soft chairs. They are covered in velvet, which reminds me too much of the Justice Building. At that, I turn and head down the hall adjacent to the kitchen. The hall has four doors. I can see Effie and Haymitch have unpacked settled themselves in two of the chambers, leaving one for Katniss and myself. As I pass Katniss's room, I peek into the window in her door. She is standing next to a gigantic bed, deep in thought. With a sigh, I continue to my chambers. I feel my jaw drop as I enter my chambers. At home in the bakery, I share a room with my two brothers. We each have our own bed, but the room is so small, the beds hardly fit. There is close to no room for belongings. In this chamber, we have our own bedroom with a large bed, a dressing area and a private bathroom!

I have always wished that I could have my own bathroom, or even just a shower. But now both are right here for me! And there is hot and cold running water! We never have hot water, unless we boil it, which only ever happens occasionally.

I explore my room, finding more and more. Extra quilts and pillows fill my wardrobe, along with fine clothing. Wanting desperately to have a shower, I grabbed a close-fitted white shirt, and a pair of khaki slacks.

I undressed and got ready for the shower, but I realised I had no idea how to start it. A panel of buttons line the wall, the buttons coloured differently. About ten spouts are connected to the wall directly above me. I cautiously press the yellow button, and wait for the outcome. Slowly a gel oozes out of one of the spouts. It smells strongly of lemons, and is cool to the touch. I hesitantly pushed the light blue button, sighing with relief when cool water spurted from a different nozzle. I soaked in the cool water for a few seconds, wetting my hair, before attempting to find the hot water switch. I find a red button, and I am about to push it when I notice the light pink button. I move my hand cautiously between the two buttons, unsure which to pick. I decide on the red button, but quickly regret it. A rather large amount of red foam pours out of yet another nozzle, smelling strongly of roses. As I attempt to hit the pink button, my hand fumbles over quite a few of the buttons, causing hot water, a strange green liquid and the yellow gel all to pour from the nozzles. I soon realize that the yellow gel is conditioner, and the green liquid is shampoo. After finally managing to bathe without flooding the train, I return to the dining compartment.

Effie sees me coming in and beams at me. In front of her on the table is a large amount of papers, mostly schedules and other works. At my entrance, she jumps up and pushes the papers together, gathering them into a small pile.

"Oh, Peeta, is it time for supper already? My work just gets so out of hand sometimes. Make yourself comfortable, and I will go collect Katniss. As she leaves, I notice the absence of our mentor, Haymitch Abernathy. I quickly sneak into the living compartment, were Haymitch has chosen to make himself comfortable. He is strewn across one of the couches, mumbling inaudibly. I shake his shoulder, wondering if I should get Effie. But he snaps his attention to me as soon as I make contact with him.

"What. What is it?"He mumbles.

"Supper is ready." I say.

"Oh" he says, quietly standing. But as he stands, he tips sideways, leaning hard on the couch.

"Haymitch?" I ask, genuine worry etching into my voice.

"I think I'm going to go take a lie down. I'll be there soon though." He says, and at that, walks briskly away.

I make my way back to the dining compartment, taking my seat, only just settling in as Effie and Katniss walk in.

Katniss is wearing a dark green shirt with black trousers, and even in casual clothes, she looks absolutely stunning. I try my hardest to avert my gaze, but my eyes are drawn to the pin she wears on her chest. It is a bird of some sort, fashioned into a golden ring. As I realise what kind of bird it is, I realise the meaning behind it. A Mockingjay.

In the rebellion, the Capitol bred a series of genetically altered animals as weapons. The common term is _Muttations_, but in the districts, we call them _Mutts_. One in particular was the Jabberjay. It had the ability to memorize and repeat human conversations. They were exclusively male birds, released into the districts known to have rebels, or the Capitols enemies. They would gather conversations, return to the Capitol and repeat them. For a while, it worked. The Capitol had the advantage. After a while, the rebels realized what was happening, and fed lies to the Capitol, sabotaging the Jabberjay idea. Expecting them to die off, the Capitol released them into the wild. The Jabberjays mated with the female mockingbirds, creating a whole new species that could replicate bird calls and human melodies, called the Mockingjays. The species is kind of a slap in the face for the Capitol, and now Katniss is wearing one!

"Where's Haymitch" asks Effie Trinket, interrupting my thoughts.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," I say.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day" says Effie, obviously relieved by Haymitch's absence.

Supper is served, coming in many courses. So much food is served; I can hardly wait to start eating. Somewhere in my mind, I have this nagging feeling about the fact that I am getting all this food, and so many people are starving back home. But the scent of carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mash potatoes fills me with such longing, I soon find myself lost in my hunger. Soon cheese, fruit and chocolate cake follows. As we eat, Effie Trinket keeps reminding Katniss and me to save some space, because there is more to come. But I know I can't stop eating, and by the way Katniss is looking at my slice of cake (even with a rather large piece in front of her), she can't stop eating either.

"At least you two have decent manners," Says Effie, cheerfully. I looked up at her while she talked. She was obviously happy that Katniss and I had been taught proper manners. My mother taught it to me, and I think Katniss's mum taught her. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages." She continues. I wince at the word savages, knowing that the two kids selected last year were from the Seam. I can't say I know exactly how it feels, but I know they barely got enough food to survive.

I sense Katniss stiffen slightly, probably despising Effie for saying such a thing. I try to catch her eye, to warn her not to do anything rash. But what she does makes what I feel about her so much stronger. I smile on the inside as I see her deliberately finish the rest of her meal with her hands. Once she is done, she wipes her hands on the table cloth, making Effie squirm.

We go back to the living compartment to watch recap of the reapings. One by one we watch the districts. We watched the names being drawn, occasional volunteers, but mostly the faces of our opponents. I see the faces of those who I know will be a threat to Katniss's survival. I see quite a few guys from the Career districts, who I know will be a challenge. But most frighting, are the crippled boy from District 10, and the twelve year old girl from District 11. Their faces appear on the screen as I wonder how the Capitol could enjoy this. That boy is crippled! And she is twelve! It's sick.

Finally District 12 appears, showing our dull town square. I watch again as Prim is called, Katniss volunteering, her cries so strangled I cringe. The refusal to applaud was aired, the commentators not knowing what to say. Then the silent salute. I watch as my name is called, and I quietly take my spot next to Katniss. We shake hands, and I acutely remember the sensation of her hand in mine. The anthem plays, and the program ends.

Effie Trinket is upset about her wig in the program, but mostly about Haymitch's little display.

"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behaviour." She says.

I suddenly laugh, compelled by the seriousness in her voice.

"He was drunk," I say. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day" adds Katniss, smirking. I can't help but laugh again.

"Yes," hisses Effie Trinket, surprising us. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these games. The one who advises you, who lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

As if on cue, Haymitch staggers in.

"I miss supper?" he says in a slurred voice. He obviously must have been drunk when I saw him. He must have slept longer than he wanted to. He vomits all over the carpets, collapsing face first into the mess.

"So laugh away!" says Effie Trinket. Walking around him, she avoids Haymitch and his mess, and stalks away, leaving Katniss and I with Haymitch.

**Authors Note**

**Thank you so much for the reviews, and I'm sorry this took so long. School starts tomorrow so it may take a while for me to update, but I will try must best.**

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	5. A survivor and me

Chapter 5

I do not own the Hunger Games

Hey guys. Sorry it has taken so long. I have just been so busy! And I'm sorry it's not that long either, I am just trying to continue writing. The story covers the book's information right now, but soon there will be more unknown scenes... Please review I know everyone asks for reviews, but it gives motivation, and even knew ideas. Thanks so much for reading. Lots of Love.

The Mockingjay Games.

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

I stare down at Haymitch, the stench of vomit and raw spirits engulfing me. I am positive that my Capitol feast will not stay down much longer. I glance at Katniss, catching her eye. I can see that she is repulsed by Haymitch, but we both move to help him anyway. We both grab his arm and help him to his feet.

"I tripped?" he asks. "Smells bad."

I am instantly sorry for Haymitch, an overwhelming feeling of pity coming over me.

"Let's just get you back to your room," I say, encouraging him to move. "Clean you up a bit."

We led Haymitch back to his compartment, setting him down in the bath tub. We turn on the shower, drenching him. I notice Katniss standing awkwardly near the door, obviously hesitant.

"It's OK," I tell her. "I'll take it from here."

I don't want her to be uncomfortable. She gives me a grateful look.

"Alright," she says. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

I don't want the Capitol people here. Mostly because I know that Haymitch hates them, and he will never forgive me if I let them.

"No. I don't want them," I say.

I turn back to Haymitch, wondering where to start, as Katniss leaves the bathroom.

"What am I going to do with you?" I ask, laughing a little.

"You're askin' me?" he mumbles.

I strip him of his clothes, being careful to leave on his underwear. I use the tap to wash away the excess vomit from his body, all the while attempting to keep his head above water. He occasionally murmurs something unintelligible, droning on about his failures, how he has never brought a tribute home safe, until he says something that sticks in my mind.

"It's always them damn careers" he leers. "They get everything. Sponsors adore them, cause they always win!"

I know that the careers are the best survivors in the Games. Everyone knows that. But sometimes, a rare tribute wins from other districts.

"This one time, I remember watching the Games." Haymitch continues. The bath seems to be bringing him back to his senses. "A tribute from District 7 joined the careers, because they saw him kill another tribute. They liked him, and he joined. But it was just a plan... because... because..."

He pauses, obviously remembering something gruesome.

"Because?" I ask, eager for more information.

Haymitch hesitates, then obviously realises that no harm can come in telling me.

"He... he slit their throats in their sleep." He stutters, grimacing at the end.

No matter what District you are, even if you ARE careers, you're still a kid. You are still a kid being killed.

"He just wanted to win." He continues.

Not wanting to dwell on the subject, I quickly help him out of the bath and dry him off. I struggle, attempting to wrestle Haymitch's clothes onto him. He grunts when I force his shirt over his head, a little too hard. Once I finally have him dressed, I lead him to his bed.

Disgruntled, Haymitch plonks down onto his bed and looks at me. I sit by his bed, deciding to wait for him to fall asleep. I don't want him to wake and find the booze again. After a few minutes silence, he speaks.

"I see the way you look at her, Peeta." He says.

I stare at my hands, not wanting him to look at me, not wanting him to see my face.

"I know what you are planning. You're going to throw your life away for her, aren't you?" he says.

This time I look at him. When he says it that way, it fills me with anger.

"It's not like that. I... I have to protect her. If anyone has to die, it shouldn't be her." I say.

"That's the point, Peeta! Somebody DOES have to die! A LOT of people have to die!" he says, incredulous. I can tell that sleep is creeping up on him, and that soon his sudden energy will were off. His voice is getting slightly hoarse, and he is starting to mumble.

"But not her! She shouldn't have to die!" I say honestly.

"Not even for you to win?" he asks, his eyes lids drooping.

I stare at him, appalled by the thought of Katniss dying. The thought of her dying for me.

"She's strong" I say. Stronger than me.

"I know." Say Haymitch.

He sighs, obviously not in the mood to argue anymore.

I know Haymitch doesn't like me. He doesn't like anyone that much. At home sometimes I see him trudging down the street, mumbling savagely under his breath. He never says hi to anyone, and doesn't have any friends that I know of. He keeps to himself, and his grog.

I look up to the sound of light snoring, to see that my mentor is completely and utterly unconscious. I quietly back out of his compartment, closing the door after me. It's weird, after years of seeing Haymitch drunk in the streets, to have an actual conversation with him. Although, it wasn't a conversation as such, but more of an argument.

I walk silently walk down to the living compartment, stopping shortly at Katniss's door. The lights in her compartment are out, so she must be asleep. I wonder what she looks like when she sleeps.

"_STOP! You can't think like that anymore Peeta. You have to protect her. You may even have to die, so she can go home. Go home to Prim, and her mother. Go home to... to Gale." _ I tell myself.

When I reach the living compartment, I see Effie Trinket on one of the couches. She doesn't notice me, but I watch as she stares at the screen. Recaps of the Reapings are being played on repeat, so that viewers can watch 24-7. I consider sitting with her and watching, to get a sense of the other tributes, but a sudden feeling of exhaustion overwhelms me. I turn quietly, and decide to head back to my compartment. I consider going to the dining compartment to grab a snack, but I am still queasy from the last Capitol feast.

As I pass Katniss's room, once again, I wonder again what it would be like to sleep with her in my arms. I give up on convincing myself to not think of Katniss, but after years of loving her, it's just impossible.

When I reach my chambers, I climb into bed, not bothering to change clothes. I drift off, my thoughts reaching Katniss. Eventually I find peace in my sleep.

When I wake, my head is in a daze. The room spins, slowly settling as I think of what happened the previous day. My stomach grumbles, but I quickly shower, needing the refreshing sensation. As the water splashes my face, I feel a sense of relief, as if all tension from yesterday will be washed away.

I pull on black slacks and a grey shirt and head for breakfast. Haymitch is slouched in a chair, clutching a cup of dark liquid. He looks better, but still puffy faced and slightly red from last night's indulgences. I find myself a chair, as an awkward silence falls over us. When I sit, eggs, ham, potatoes and more are placed in front of me. Fruits and rolls cover the table before me. The extravagant meal is accompanied by what looks to be orange juice, a cup of coffee similar to Haymitch's, and a strange brown cup emitting a chocolaty aroma.

"That's called hot chocolate," says Haymitch, obviously trying to break the tension. I take a sip and am filled with this beautiful, rich, warmth. I immediately finish my cup, and ask for another.

Effie Trinket enters, her bright pink wig bopping on her head. Holding a large pile of papers again, she gleefully smiles at us, avoiding looking at Haymitch.

"Good morning Peeta." She smiles, taking a large cup of black coffee, before continuing to bustle around the room. "Haymitch." She adds, almost as an afterthought.

"Good morning Effie," I say, smiling politely.

"Mornin" says Haymitch.

Effie halts and looks up, surprised by Haymitch's attempt of kindness.

"You look better, Haymitch." She says, trying to find peace. "Clean." She continues.

Haymitch grunts his thanks, glancing sideways at me.

"I had a good helper," laughs Haymitch.

Effie, looking utterly confused, searches Haymitch's and my face, looking for an explanation. She gives up with a shrug, and continues ruffling through her papers.

I, on the other hand, am completely embarrassed. I grab one of the rolls, trying to distract myself. As I feel my cheeks redden, Katniss walks in, of all times. I watch her observe the scene before her. Her face changes to confusion as her eyes pass over Haymitch, still chuckling, and my face, observing my obvious humiliation. Haymitch notices her, and waves her over.

"Sit down! Sit down!" he says.

She slides into her chair and is faced with a meal similar to mine. As she observes her meal, still eerily quiet, she notices the hot chocolate.

"They call it hot chocolate," I tell her. "It's good."

She continues to drink her hot chocolate, finishing it in seconds. I glance over at Haymitch and see that he has abandoned the coffee, and has moved onto a red juice. And by the smell of it, it is filled with some type of spirits.

I shake my head sadly and continue to eat, dunking my bread in my hot chocolate. Memories of home swirl through my mind, when I am suddenly yanked back to reality.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," says Katniss, looking at Haymitch.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive" he says, bursting into laughter. I remember our conversation last night, with him trying to convince me that my safety is as important as hers. Sure, I have friends and family I want to get back to at home. But I have this unchanging urge to protect Katniss. I wonder if he even remembers our talk, what I said. I glance at Katniss as she glances at me. I am suddenly very angry with Haymitch. He DOES control what we receive in the Games, and our sponsors. And here he is joking about life and death.

Her life and death.

"That's very funny' I say, not even the slightest bit amused. I suddenly am so angry I reach out and knock the glass from his hand, it shattering on the train floor.

"Only not to us," I say with finality.

Haymitch seems to ponder over what I have said, then lashes out and punches me in the jaw. The pain in my wrists from impact when I fall to the floor is dulled by the pain in my jaw. I am only slightly aware of Haymitch reaching for the spirits before Katniss drives her knife so close to his hand. For a second I thought she actually hit him.

"Well, what's this?" says Haymitch. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

'_No' _I think to myself. _'You got a survivor... and me.'_


	6. Meet the Stylists

Chapter 6

I do not own the Hunger Games

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

My cheek throbs angrily. I would never have thought that Haymitch would be able to throw a punch like that. Then again, he was in the Hunger Games.

I quickly get to my feet, noticing ice under the fruit tureen. I grab a handful and hold it to my face. Instant coolness calms the pain in my cheek, but too soon Haymitch grabs a hold of my wrist, pulling my hand away.

"No," says Haymitch. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

A series of arguments flood my mind. '_Katniss is the only tribute I have met, and I would never get into a brawl with her...That's ridiculous Haymitch, no one would fall for that..._'

But I settle with "That's against the rules."

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," he says, a smug look on his face. He turns to Katniss, eyeing her thoughtfully.

"Can you hit anything with that knife besides the table?" he asks.

Katniss seems lost in thought, and I know why. Her bow and arrow are her best weapons. She uses them to catch her game we trade for back home in District 12. Her squirrels are always shot perfectly in the eye, preserving the meat. My father would always cook half the meat for our family's meal, and then preserve the rest for another time. I only ever experienced having a sufficient meal once or twice, but when I did get one, it was an amazing feeling. But lately, on the Capitol train, I have had that feeling a bit too much. I always used to wonder how she did it, having such perfect aim. I have never seen Katniss shoot before, but she must be superb. I have always wanted to see her hunt, watch her do what she does best, to see her shoot. How ironic, wanting to see her shoot. With my luck, it may well be the last thing I see in the arena.

She suddenly pulls the knife out of the table, adjusts it in her hands, and then flings it at the wall. I watch in amazement as it lodges in the seam between two panels.

She has this effect on me. I can't really explain it. It is kind of like having butterflies in your stomach, but a much more affectionate feeling. She never ceases to amaze me.

I quickly turn back to her to see a look of utter surprise flash across her face. She quickly masks this with her usual look of determination. I can tell she is obviously trying to impress Haymitch, and by the look on his face, he is impressed.

"Stand over here. Both of you," he says, gesturing to the middle of the compartment. I follow Katniss, absent mindedly, standing just to her left. I watch Haymitch circle us, making me feel slightly self conscious. He slowly circles us, poking and prodding us, checking our muscles, examining every inch of our bodies. I feel unease as Haymitch slowly comes to a stop in front of us.

"Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get a hold of you, you'll be attractive enough," he says.

I don't take offense to this, because I know that the attractive tributes get sponsors - and I will need all the help I can get. The sponsors, and technically Haymitch, are my only source of help in the games.

"All right, I'll make you a deal," continues Haymitch. "You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you."

I know it isn't a reasonable deal, because Haymitch can be horribly nasty when he is sober. But knowing him, it will probably be the best we get.

"Fine," I say, unappreciatively.

"So help us," says Katniss. "When we go to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone - "

"One thing at a time," Haymitch interrupts. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But-" says Katniss.

"No buts. Don't resist." Haymitch says, grabbing the spirits, and walking out. I glance at Katniss, seeing shadow cover her face, the cabin succumbing to darkness. We must have entered the tunnel leading to the Capitol. The tunnel leads right through the mountains lining the east side if the Capitol, which helped them considerably in the war. As the train progresses through the tunnel, Katniss and I stand in silence. She stands there, adrift in her thoughts, fiddling unconsciously with her hands. I start to tug at the hem of my shirt, awkwardness encasing me. I find myself watching her again, wanting to finally talk to her, but I know I shouldn't. In a few days we will be tossed into an arena to kill each other. I know I won't kill her. But she doesn't know that. Plus, interrupting her thoughts seems selfish, so I leave her be.

Finally the train starts to slow and the cabin is once again filled with bright light. We have entered the Capitol. I can't help myself. I run to the windows, followed shortly by Katniss, to see what we have only ever seen on television. But it is nothing like what we thought it was. It's more. Glistening buildings rise higher than I would ever have imagined. Shiny, slick cars zoom past the train. I knew that people in the Capitol have _different _ways of showing themselves, but seeing the odd colours and designs still surprises me. I watch as a plump woman, who's skin is covered in pink swirling tattoos recognise the tribute train. She starts to point, and soon a crowd of colourful people are waving and gawking at us. Instinctually I wave back, smiling as I see them gush over a friendly tribute. The train pulls into a large building I immediately recognise as the train station, blocking my view of the gushing citizens of the Capitol.

I feel Katniss's eyes on me and I turn to face her. I can tell she is incredulous, and she is judging me. Defensively, I shrug.

"Who knows?" I say, as she continues to stare at me. "One of them may be rich."

Her grey eyes gaze into nothingness, and I know she is considering what I have said. She is judging me again, I can tell. She seems to make up her mind about me because she composes herself, stiffening slightly. I am suddenly quite annoyed by her hostility.

I want the people in the Capitol to like me so that they sponsor District Twelve. And who else comes from District Twelve?

Her.

I turn away from Katniss and walk towards the exit of the train, lightly rubbing my cheek. It is only then that I realise that a rather large group of people are waiting for me.

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

Armac looks at me steadily, his dark green eyes assessing his work. He towers over me, his long, pale arms crossed over his chest. A strand of his long purple locks falls into his sparkling eyes as he watches me, and he impatiently pushes it aside. Vista, a rather short, plump woman, with orange skin and a massive smile joins Vista. She reaches out to my face again, and using a small device plucks more hair from my eyebrows. I cringe, but slowly the stinging fades.

"Sorry Peeta!" she says in her funny Capitol accent.

Already, Armac and Vista have rid my body of any hair. My legs, my chest, my under arms, my arms and my face are all hair free.

I don't like it.

I have been in the Remake Centre for a while now, and my prep team are the only people I have met. They have been scrubbing me down, ridding me of dirt, washing my hair, turning me into something 'suitable'. 'A man of Capitol standard' as Vista states it. My blonde hair is a few shades lighter, and I am positive my skin may be glowing, but I have kept my part of the deal with Haymitch. I constantly tell myself that I will not object.

Lorin, a small, short woman with swirling tattoos over her body appears next to Vista.

"We didn't have to fix him that much," Lorin says to Vista, in a high voice.

I cringe at the word 'fix', and luckily none of my prep team notice. Vista and Lorin start to rub a soothing lotion onto my tingling body, and I am relieved. Finally, they remove the gown a have been wearing, leaving me naked.

They continue to observe me, looking for any signs of dirt, or unremoved hair. I am slightly uncomfortable by their stares, but I know I mustn't object.

"Excellent! You are finally finished!" says Armac, beaming at Peeta.

I smile kindly at the trio, forcing down the want to go and roll in a pile of flour, just to appear normal again.

"Thank you, you are much too kind," I say nicely, winning them over quickly. Armac just smiles kindly at me, but Lorin and Vista gush at my kindness. One thing I have noticed today is that the Capitol people like to gush.

"Oh, you are so sweet! Not like last year's group! Didn't say a word, did they Lorin?" Vista says encouragingly.

"Oh no, they didn't seem to like us very much. Not to worry! We should call Portia! She's incredible!" says Lorin, excitedly gathering her gear together. I find it hard to think that my prep team are trying to help me, but I can't bring myself to hate them either. They are so oblivious, it's funny. I let out a laugh, causing a confused Armac to glance at me, before they bustle out of the room.

I look around at the white walls of the room, the scarce, plain furniture. I really want to grab my robe, but before I get a chance to, the door opens.

A young woman who must be Portia enters. I am slightly surprised by the normalcy of her appearance, her dark hair tied back in a long pony tail, her black clothing. Her clothing is so simple; it gives me quite a shock, especially after seeing so much of the Capitol fashion. The only concession to self- alternation that I can see is the gold lipstick, making her lips look plump and soft. It is a very attractive look for her, despite being a Capitol citizen.

She smiles at me, and it is a smile so warm and friendly I instantly smile back.

"Hello Peeta. I'm Portia, your stylist," she says, her voice smooth and quiet, somewhat different to the Capitol's affectations.

"Hello," I say, cautiously. She smiles again, and starts to observe my face and body.

"You are a very handsome man, Peeta. I instructed my prep team to not make many changes," she says.

I am surprised at her comment. I never really considered myself to be good looking. Jaxon used to tell me that he knew a few girls who 'fancied' me, but I was never really interested.

"..uh..thank you.." I manage to say. I was expecting my stylist to be different. Most of the stylists that I have seen on the television are so dyed, and genetically altered that it reaches a point of ugliness. But Portia seemed so different, so gentle. I don't think I have ever seen a stylist like Portia. Come to think of it, I don't think I have ever seen Portia before.

"Are you new?" I ask her.

"Yes. This is my first year in the games. Cinna and I asked for District Twelve." She says, quite calm.

Once again, I am taken aback. She _asked _for District Twelve. We haven't had a victor in twenty four years! Why would they ask for District Twelve? Newcomers are generally stuck with District Twelve, being the most undesirable.

"Why don't we talk Peeta?" she asks. "Come, you must be hungry."

"May I...uh... put on my robe?" I ask.

She laughs; a soft melodic sound that fills the room.

"Off course!" she says, still laughing. "I'm sorry,"

I quickly pull on my robe, and follow her out the door into a sitting room. Two red couches face each other over a low table. Three walls are blank, and the fourth is entirely made of glass, providing a window over the city. I immediately walk over and gaze out over the Capitol, engulfed in its magnificence once again.

But slowly I remember the reason I get to see this place, and the barbaric nature of its inhabitants. Well, maybe not so much Portia.

She invites me to sit in one of the chairs, and I relax into the soft, velvet couch. Portia smiles at me again, obviously amused by my behaviour. I sit up as she pushes a button on the side of the table. The top splits in two and up rises an extravagant meal. The aromas from the meal toy with my mind, but I force myself to wait until Portia eats, out of courtesy. I am suddenly aware of a familiar shape in front of me, accompanying the meal. A small piece of bread in the shape of a flower sits on a small plate, waiting for me to devour it. But a thought occurs that drives my rumbling stomach to the back of my mind. The swirls of the design on the bread are so familiar, and the grains and wheats don't look like something the Capitol makes. Then it hits me.

I made this.

I glance up to see Portia looking at the bread in my hands, and then at me with a knowing look.

"How despicable you must think we are," she says to me. It must be written all over my face that this bread is from District Twelve, from our ovens back home, from my very hands.

I give her an apologetic look, trying to forget about the bread.

"Don't worry about it now, Peeta," she says with a sad look. "Anyway, we should talk about your costume for the opening ceremony. My partner, Cinna, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Katniss. And our current thought is to dress you similarly," Portia says.

I can't help but think about Katniss, and what changes they might be making to her appearance. Not too much I hope. And matching costumes? I don't have a problem with it, but I have a strong feeling that Katniss might.

"And we also have to reflect your District in the costume as well," Portia continues.

For the opening ceremonies, we're supposed to wear something that suggests your districts industry. For example; District 4, fishing. District 11, agriculture. So Katniss and I will probably be dressed in something related to coal. I shudder slightly thinking back over some of the costumes tributes from district twelve have had to wear. One year, the male tribute had to wear a headlamp over his _area, _and other than that he was stark naked. Another year a poor girl from the seam had to wear coal as jewellery. It's always horrible, and it does nothing to win over the crowd. I am suddenly very nervous about Portia and Cinna's ideas.

"Please don't tell me I will be in a coal miner's outfit!" I say, preparing myself for the worst. Portia laughs again, shaking her head.

"No," she says, and I am instantly relieved. "Cinna and I believe that the whole coal miner thing is very overdone. We want them to remember you!'

'_Oh god,' _I think. _'Headlamps it is.'_

"We don't really want to think about the coal mining itself. More the coal, really."

'_Headlamps and coal dust.'_

"And what do you do to coal Peeta?" she asks me.

I look at her for a while, wondering where she is going with this.

"You burn it," I finally answer.

"Exactly," she says, smiling at me again.

"Tell me Peeta. Are you by any chance afraid of fire?" she asks me, her eyes gleaming with determination. This time, it's my turn to laugh.

"Portia," I reply. "I'm a baker."

* * *

><p><strong>Hey Guys! <strong>

**Sorry its been so long! Just so busy!**

**I would really appreciate it if you left me some reviews ;)**

**They just keep me motivated and they make me write faster :P**

**Thankyou for the wonderful reviews and messages!**

**I hope you like it! It's not my best, but hopefully it will get better :D**

**And its getting closer to the games...!**

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**TMG**


	7. Mr Baker

Chapter 7

I do not own the Hunger Games The characters and the world of Panem belongs to Suzanne Collins. I don't know what I would do without her.

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

A few hours later, Portia has dressed me in what will probably be the death of me. It is a simple black unitard that covers me from ankle to neck. Shiny leather boots lace up to my knees. But what makes this costume REALLY stand out, is the fluttering cape made of streams of orange, yellow and red. The matching head piece wobbles slightly on my head, and I attempt to steady it. Portia is planning to set the streamers on fire as we roll into the street. I eye the streamers nervously, my once confidence wavering. Portia sees my reaction, laughing slightly.

"It's alright, Mr. Baker. It's not real flame, just synthetic flame Cinna and I came up with. You'll be fine, perfectly safe." She says.

Right. For some reason, I don't tend to associate 'fire' with 'safety'. But I don't argue. I promised Haymitch.

I look in the mirror, eyes straining for a sign of the baker from District Twelve. My face is relatively clear of makeup, only a few touches here and there, and my blonde hair is just as messy as ever. My face is so similar, but yet again so different. I want so much to be that baker's boy again, decorating cakes and going to school, but that will never happen again. I am no longer Peeta Mellark, the Baker. I am Peeta Mellark, male tribute from District Twelve.

I am just another pawn in the Capitols Games.

But no matter what name the Capitol gives me, I won't let them change me.

Ever.

"We want the audience to recognise you, Peeta. Hence the sparse make-up," Portia says, standing next to me. I hardly call what I am wearing sparse, but again a force my mouth shut. My mother always told me I have the tendency to speak my mind. But my father always told me I have a gift with words. Maybe I can convince them to let me rub off the make-up? I decide against it. We both look at each other in the mirror, my nerves reflecting on my face. Portia smiles at me, and leads me towards the exit.

When I see Katniss, I am filled with relief. I hadn't realised how much I needed to see someone who isn't covered in tattoos, dyes and extravagant colours. We have been separated for only a few hours, and yet I have missed her.

'_You are such a git, Peeta Mellark! How do you suppose you are going to go in the games then?' _ I ask myself.

I watch as relief fills Katniss's eyes, and I have no possible explanation for it. She either is relieved she isn't the only pawn in leather boots, or she too is over bright colours. I can feel the excitement radiating off of my stylists as they bob along next to me. They constantly drabble about the costumes, the make-up, and it is only making me more nervous.

We are ushered into a large elevator, Katniss and I standing near the doors. A hushed conversation between Portia and Cinna goes unnoticed in the corner, their heads bowed close together. Armac, Vista and Lorin talk excitedly among Octavia, Venia and Flavius, Katniss's stylists.

Honestly, these Capitol names! It's incredible.

Katniss is standing beside me, shifting her weight between her feet, probably out of nerves. We are all very nervous, I can tell from the tension. I over hear part of Vista's conversation with Octavia, catching a few words here and there.

"You know, nerves are only a type of excitement. So I guess every one must be very excited!" says Vista.

Yeah, that's it. We are all excited. So, I guess, when I get into the arena, instead of being nervous, I'm going to be excited!

Excited to die.

She has no idea how wrong she is.

I take a glance at Katniss, wondering what she is thinking about. She looks so lost in her thoughts again, and I can't help but want to know. Her eyes constantly flit between the small screen indicating our current level, and the door. We descend so quickly that I fear I may lose my stomach. The stylists seem bemused by our reaction to the speed off the elevator, laughing quietly amongst themselves. We are whisked to the lowest level of the remake centre, which closely resembles a stable. Pairs of Tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. I look around, noticing the large boy from eleven climbing into his chariot in front of us. Next to him, a small girl turns around excitedly, looking eagerly at the horses. She must be no older than twelve.

I feel a sudden urge to be sick.

Portia and Cinna direct us to our chariot, carefully arranging our body positions, our capes, and doing final adjustments to our head pieces. They step away from us, admiring their work quickly, before moving off to consult.

"What do you think?" Katniss whispers to me. "About the fire?"

I am suddenly flooded with images of Katniss alight with flames, and I shake my head to rid of it..

"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," I say tensely.

"Deal," she says. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

I suddenly remember my mentor, and I scan the commotion for any signs of him.

"Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" I ask, slightly aggravated.

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," she says. And we both convulse into a fit of laughter. Katniss's laugh is so light hearted and beautiful compared to the darkness of our situation.

I jump slightly as the opening music blasts from large speakers surrounding us. Massive doors slide open, revealing crowd lined streets. The ride lasts about twenty minutes and ends up at the city circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and escort us into the Training Centre, our home and prison until the Games begin.

District one's chariot slowly rolls out, and a massive uproar emits from the crowd. Slowly, District two follows. I look towards the District Eleven chariot, actually taking a chance to notice what they are wearing. Vines are strategically wrapped around the two tribute's bodies, bunched slightly of the small girl's chest. The large adjusts his slightly, obviously uncomfortable with his costume.

Too soon, their chariot moves, making its way into the streets. Cinna appears in front of us, holding a lit torch.

"Here we go then," he says, and he suddenly lights our capes on fire. I tense, waiting for the flames to burn me, to engulf me, but I only feel a slight tickling sensation.

"It works," he breathes, sighing with relief.

IT WORKS? What would have happened to BOTH tributes from district 12 if it DIDN'T work?

He tucks a hand under Katniss's chin and murmurs "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"

He jumps off the chariot, turning quickly to shout something at us. The loud music drowns out any sound from him, but I understand from his gestures.

"What's he saying?" Katniss asks, looking up at me.

"I think he wants us to hold hands," I say, wearily. I quickly grab her hand, feeling the warmth again, and we look to Cinna for confirmation. He nods, and I glance to Portia. The last thing I see before we enter the city streets is her smirk.

I immediately deafened by cries of alarm at our costume, which quickly transform into cheers and squeals of delight. Shouts of "District Twelve" are heard from every direction, and all heads are turned towards us. I catch a glimpse of Katniss and me on a large screen attached to a nearby building.

We are stunning. It is like we are leaving a trail of flame.

I suddenly remember Cinna's words, and I force a smile and wave. They go mad. I can hear people screaming out my name, desperate for my attention. I can see Katniss blowing kisses, and people actually falling over in delight.

The pounding music, the bright lights and the roar of the crowd makes me slightly dizzy, and I feel as if the only thing keeping me grounded is Katniss's hand in mine. I look down, and actually realize how tightly she is squeezing my hand. It is like a vice. But I don't care. My eyes graze up her arm and land on her face, and I finally _see _her. Her face is shining with the blaze of the flame as she blows kisses to the crowd. Her eyes gleam with what I think may be excitement. Maybe Vista was right, nerves ARE just a type of excitement.

Nope. Definitely not.

Katniss is just as caught up in the cheers and music as I am. She catches a rose, smelling it as I marvel in her beauty. She blows a kiss to the lucky Capitol crowd, and it dawns on me how much I wish I am on the receiving end.

She is still clutching my hand as we enter the city circle, but she loosens her grip slightly.

"No, don't let go of me," I say. "Please, I might fall out of this thing."

And I mean it. I need her here, her strength flowing through our linked hands.

"Okay," she says, as we proceed to lap the Inner Circle. The anthem is played, and President Snow does his speech, cameras capturing our every breathe. The cameras hold longer on District Twelve, the relatively 'stunning' tributes, as the flames become more distinct as the sky grows darker.

Once the anthem is played, the door to the training centre shuts behind us, locking us away from the public. I glance down quickly at Katniss and my entwined hands, but make no move to adjust them. Tributes shoot us dirty looks, but I focus my attention on Portia and Cinna, who are carefully removing our flaming costume and extinguishing them. The tributes are jealous of our first appearance. We literally outshined them.

I can feel Katniss finally forcing her hand open, releasing mine from her grasp. I massage my hand, trying to restart the blood flow.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there." I say.

"It didn't show," she says, smiling slightly. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," I say without thinking. "They suit you." Why did I say that? We are going to be thrown into the arena and a few DAYS.

But the more I think about this, the more I start to think _'Why not?'_

I smile, my first, genuine, non-guilt ridden or nervous smile. And before I realise what is happening, she reaches up and kisses my cheek, right on my bruise.

I am filled with happiness, accompanied by confusion. Her small kiss was blissful, but also painful.

Painfully sweet.

**WOW. 22 Reviews. THANKYOU SO MUCH! My goal was always 20 reviews! This is amazing! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH GUYS! It feels so fantastic getting these reviews, and it makes me want to write so much quicker! Anyway, thank you for taking the time to review. Sorry its short, I just wanted to get this out of the way before the training starts :D Any suggestions, just let me know..And I am not sure of what I should call this fanfic, cause the name I have for it is kinda shabby.. let me know what you think. Also I am considering writing another fanfic about Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. What do you think? **

**Thank you so much for reviewing. Please keep it up :D my next goal is 30 reviews... 3**

**LOVE!**

**TMG**


	8. Confidence

Chapter 8

I do not own the Hunger Games The characters and the world of Panem belongs to Suzanne Collins. I don't know what I would do without her.

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

I'm confident.

I always have been. My father used to tell me to believe in myself and to be confident in whom I am. So I do. I am confident that I can bake. I am confident that my mother hates me. I am confident that I love Katniss. I am confident that Katniss and I have to get the Capitol citizens to like us if there is any chance that we can get help in the Arena. We left a pretty good impression just then. Being covered in flame shows a lot of bravery. But we have to do a lot more than that. I got that from the start. I knew that we have to do a lot to get their attention. Why else would I wave and smile brightly at them?

I am confident that the Capitol makes me sick. But that's not what is important right now. The fact is, Katniss and I are going to be thrown into the Arena, whatever it may be, and only one of twenty-four can win. And I plan on that being her. There is nothing I can do to stop this now. I can only help Katniss. I am confident that Haymitch thinks Katniss will win. She can, and Haymitch knows it.

I am confident that Katniss doesn't like me. Not even remotely. Lately I have been asking myself; '_What am I going to do in the Arena? I can't kill her!' _But that's the point. I won't kill her. It's me who has got to die. So it should be a good thing that she doesn't like me. She shouldn't have to go through any guilt about my inevitable death. But when she does the simplest thing, like kissing my cheek, she leaves me breathless. She does that to my confidence. Around her, it just slips away.

But off course, now there is no way I am going to let her die.

Only me.

Listen to me, thinking about my own death.

I am confident that I am going to die. As much as I don't like it, I have become just another piece in the Capitol's game.

Simply another piece.

But no matter what piece I am, it won't change the fact that no-one can control how die.

Okay, maybe the Gamemakers.

But the **reason** that I die will not change. And I will do whatever it takes to make sure I die keeping Katniss safe. We are led to another elevator, but not like the one in the remake centre. The Training Centre's elevator walls are made of crystal, and I watch as the crowd of reporters shrink, turning into small black dots far below me. It's rather frightening watching the ground shrink away from you. It's like watching the world vanish below your feet as you make your way to a better place.

I better get used to that.

Because we are District Twelve, we get the highest floor, meaning we are headed to the top of the second tallest buildings in Capitol history. We were taught as kids about the Capitol buildings, and how the tallest building was demolished after an attack in the rebellion seventy four years ago. Knowledge like this was mandatory learning. Fun, I know.

I get distracted as I hear Effie talking to Katniss about sponsors. She chatters excitedly about how Haymitch hasn't told her a thing about our strategies, and how she's managed to talk us up to the Capitol citizens. I don't really listen to her, but I do catch her say something along the lines of 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal, it turns to pearls!'

I try my hardest not to laugh, but in all my attempts, a strangled grunt like noise escapes my mouth. Thankfully, nobody seems to notice, all too busy enthusiastically replying to Effie. I always wondered whether or not people in the Capitol were educated.

Obviously not.

But at least she is confident too.

She continues on about Haymitch's job to seal the sponsor deals, once again reminding us that our lives are in the hands off our mentor. Speaking of Haymitch, he seems to have already disappeared.

I suspect a place enticed with alcohol.

We are finally led into our level on floor twelve. Effie immediately rushes through a guided tour, showing us were the kitchens are, lounge area, dining hall, our chambers, and other rooms that I lost track of.

Too many rooms. WAY too many rooms.

I see Katniss quickly vanishing into her room, and I follow suit. My room is larger, about four times the size of my train chambers. The overly large bed once again takes up a particularly big amount of space, accompanied by sofas and tables. A large wardrobe sits near a door, which I assume is my bathroom. After a rather long struggle with the remotes, I program the control to select a pair of dark pants and a grey shirt. I collect my clothes, and head towards the bathroom hoping to freshen up before dinner. I am confronted by an ENORMOUS shower, the treacherous panel of buttons tripling in size.

I just change clothes instead. Good enough.

It is still too early for dinner, so I might try my luck at exploring this massive prison of mine. I swing open my door, stepping out into the hallway. Even the hallways are grand, bigger probably than the bakery back home itself. I make my way down the hall, stopping occasionally to admire some of the paintings hanging on the walls. One painting sticks in my mind, and I can't help but stare. A small child is shown, smiling at the painter. She is so detailed, so intricate, that it simply takes my breath away. She is standing next to a bush covered in delicate little berries, her lips deep in the rich colour of the juice. I can't seem to shake the image of the girl, so innocent.

I turn to round the corner and continue my explorations, when I run into Cinna. I am glad that our stylists are here. I don't think I can stand another meal with just Effie and Haymitch. I quite like Portia. She seems to have an air of naturalism to her. Purity. And from what I have heard, Cinna seems to be quite the same.

"Hello Peeta." Says Cinna warmly.

"Oh, hello Cinna! How are you?"

"Very well thank you." He replies.

"Good! You'll be joining us for dinner I'm guessing?" I ask, smiling politely.

"Yes, I'm afraid you're stuck with Portia and I for a while." He says, smiling.

"Excellent. Maybe your presence will help Effie relax a little." I joke.

"I doubt that!" he laughs.

I smile politely as conversation falters slightly. My shoes suddenly become incredibly interesting.

"Have you seen the roof?" He asks.

I shake my head. It amazes me how Cinna has been here for an hour at most, and he has already discovered more than me.

"Come, I'll show you," he says, heading back down the way he came.

I glance quickly at the painting again. For some reason I feel the need to paint those berries. The way the sun shines on the deep colours of the berry amazes me. I jog quickly to catch up to Cinna, just as he reaches a short flight of stairs leading to a small door.

Once outside, the crisp cool breeze causes me to shiver, but already I am too distracted by the view to care. I can see the bright Capitol lights shining in the night, the dark looming shadows of the mountains. Immediately, my mind wanders to the colours I could use to capture this moment. The possibilities are endless.

Cinna chuckles and I glance over to see him watching me. At some stage through my thoughts, I had wandered to the railing, leaning out with amazement.

"Its..." I breathe, unable to describe its petrifying beauty.

"I thought you'd like it," Cinna laughs.

I look down over the edge of the balcony, seeing hundreds of people swarmed at the base of the Training Centre. I look over to Cinna questioningly.

"What are they doing?" I ask.

"Celebrating." Cinna says simply.

I drop the subject, looking back down again. I don't want to talk about the type of celebrations they are having, or why exactly. It's conversations like these that get to me. These people celebrating the fact that twenty three children will be dead soon. I'd rather through myself of this building.

Realization suddenly hits me.

"Aren't they afraid that Tributes will jump?" I ask, leaning out over the railing effectively.

Cinna smiles, moving quietly to the railing next to me.

"No. There is a force field surrounding the railings. You couldn't jump of this building no matter how hard you try. So I'm afraid you're just going to have to stick it out." He says.

"Oh no...I don't..." I stutter. I'm taken aback. I wouldn't jump. I mean, I have to protect Katn-

"I know; offcourse, who would protect Katniss?" He asks, a small smile playing at his lips. I blanch, surprised.

Him too? Is it me? Or is the only person who seems to not realise I love Katniss is Katniss?

I sigh.

"I know what you're doing Peeta. I think you are very brave. But remember, just because you and I know what you are planning to do, doesn't mean that sponsors do. They need to **love** you, Peeta." He explains.

I sigh, again. I have been doing that a lot lately.

"So, do you have a plan Peeta?"

"Uh..." I say. I haven't really gotten that far yet. I had a half plan toying at the back of my mind, but I wasn't quite sure yet. "Well, I was talking with Haymitch a while ago about Caree-"

"Not about the Arena. You can work that out with Haymitch." He says, interrupting. "What I mean is, do you have a plan to make them love you Peeta? Imagine if the audience found out. Two lovers from the same District, forced to fight to the death. One winner. The Capitol would love it." he says.

"This isn't about the Capitol. It's about Katniss and her life! She'd win. No matter what, she'd win."

Cinna sighs. "This **IS** about the Capitol Peeta! Without the Capitol, you will both die! Capitol means sponsors. Sponsors mean supplies. And you will definitely need those in the arena. I know you want to protect her Peeta. But they need to love you first. Do you understand what I mean?"

I don't answer.

What could I possibly do to make them love me?

"I'm sure you'll figure it out Peeta." Cinna says, a suggestive smile creeping back onto his face. "Come on, it's time for dinner." He says, heading back inside. I slowly follow him back inside, my mind working in overdrive.

They need to love me.

**I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to update. I have just been so busy! *Dodges various thrown objects* IM SORRY! So good news, I'm on holidays, so hopefully I will be able to update sooner. And I apologise. This chapter isn't very long. But I'm getting there. It is kind of a necessary chapter before I get into the training and the decisions of Peeta and Haymitch. I would like to thank you so much for reviewing! You guys are amazing! Keep it up! And please keep leaving me reviews. I hope you guys like this, please leave any suggestions! Thank you to those who are adding this story to their favourites and alerts. ESPECIALLY those who review. It is a really special feeling. **

**In answer to some reviews, I am hoping (if this works out, and you guys like this) to do Catching Fire and Mockingjay. I know that this is moving kind of slowly, and I apologise for that, but I don't want to rush too quickly into the games.**

**So I saw the movie COUGH3timesCOUGH and I loved it. **

**Let me know what you think of this story! I hope it's okay. Thanks again to everyone reading this story! **

**Reviews are like cookies.**

**Love,**

**TMG**


	9. Delly

Chapter 9

I do not own the Hunger Games The characters and the world of Panem belongs to Suzanne Collins. I don't know what I would do without her.

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

Dinner tonight has been pretty uneventful so far. I was right in thinking that Cinna and Portia would have a civilizing effect on Haymitch and Effie. Haymitch offcourse didn't turn up until dinner was just about served, but he did scrub up pretty well. The adults continue to make small talk about our costumes from the opening ceremony, the occasional 'Splendid!' from Effie, and the grunts of acknowledgment from Haymitch. Just as Cinna mentions the interview costumes, a girl brings out a marvellous cake, setting it in the centre of the table. The cake is round, building up slightly towards the centre, staked three layers high. I notice the subtle swirls in the silver frosting, blending with the delicate flakes of a golden substance that I have never seen before. It is the most beautiful cake I have ever seen.

I always thought that my father's cakes where amazing. I remember when I was little; he made a large cake to be sent to the Capitol. It was white with red and gold swirls, and it was beautiful. I loved it. I was distraught when I watched the train speed away from the small District Twelve station, carrying the cake to a faraway place.

But this cake was even better. The girl then lights it, illuminating the room with its blaze. When it dims down, I'm amazed. I want to know how to do that! How does it burn? I can tell my father, and together we could make a cake just like this on- Oh, I forgot. I won't see my father again. A wave of emotion washes over me, but I force it back, concentrating on what Katniss is saying.

"What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?" She says. "That's the last thing I wa- Oh! I know you!"

Uh oh.

I turn quickly to look at the girl, identifying her quickly as an avox. My mother would always tell us that the avoxes where traitors, that they were horrible people. They committed the worst crimes, suffering a punishment of everlasting silence. Off course, our knowledge of avoxes was scarce at the time, so my mother would always remind us of the gruesome details.

"Boy if you don't do what you're told they'll slit your tongue and turn you into one of them!" She would often say.

But this avox is not how I grew up imagining them. She looks terrified that Katniss has talked to her. And I know why. In the Capitol, you aren't to talk to avoxes unless to give an order. It must be horrible having no one talk to you besides ordering you around. Worst of all, you can't even speak back.

The girl quickly shakes her head, alarmed at the attention, and moves away from the table.

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an avox?" says Effie, obviously distraut at Katniss's reaction. "The very thought."

"What's an Avox?" Katniss asks.

I cringe. It's like my mother's rows all over again.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can't speak," says Haymitch. "She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her."

I watch Katniss as Effie speaks about only giving orders to Avoxes. She DOES know her. I can see it in her eyes. It's a look of... recognition. Don't say anything else stupid Katniss! Don't do it!

"No, I guess not, I just—"she stammers.

Crap. Think quick Peeta.

I snap my fingers. "Delly Cartwright. That's who it is. I keep thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly."

Well, what do you know? I AM good with words.

Delly and I were very close when we were young. We grew up together, and she is the kindest girl I have ever met. But she is a blonde haired lumpy girl who looks nothing like the Avox girl. Don't ruin this Katniss. Don't get yourself into trouble!

"Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair." She says. I inaudibly sigh with relief.

"Something about the eyes, too," I say. Delly has very pretty eyes, a nice shade of green. But they are nothing compared to Katniss's. The adults relax a little, relieved. Cinna mentions what makes the cake burn, something about spirits. I honestly don't know what spirits are. I'll have to ask Haymitch. He'll know.

"I ordered it specially in honour of your fiery debut." Cinna says.

Fiery debut, of course. I get it.

We watch our 'fiery debut' in the opening ceremony replay, and I am taken away by the magnificence of Katniss and I. We look so powerful, so... confident.

Everyone continues to talk to each other, but I concentrate on the screen. It shows close ups of the tributes as President Snow speaks. In order of the districts, it flicks through each one. It is immediately obvious which tributes are the careers. Not only do they have district one, two, three or four in shiny gold letters under their faces, but they have a look of confidence and absolutely sure of their strengths. The District One tributes don't look to strong this year. They both don't have that overconfident look to them. I see a rather large boy from Two sneering up at snow, confidence radiating off of him. The fierce looking, dark haired girl next to him smirks, her eyes roaming over the crowds of adoring Capitol citizens. An excited looking boy appears on screen, his greedy eyes alight and ready. Next to him is a beautiful girl. She watches Snow, her long blonde hair framing her face, her dazzling smile full of confidence. The recap continues to show each tribute, and I slowly come to the conclusion that no other tributes will be joining the Careers this year. We are shown District Eleven, and a large boy with fierce brown eyes fills the screen. Maybe him. He might join the careers. They'd be stupid not to. He's massive! Next is a rather small girl, her soft brown eyes flitting nervously to the large boy beside her, to the crowd, to Snow and then back again. It is obvious she is nervous. She is so small, probably only just twelve.

Katniss's face fills the screen, and once again I marvel at her beauty. God, if only she knew the effect she has on me. Sadly, my face soon replaces hers. I look up at Snow, something I have never seen before in my eyes.

Determination.

The commentators mention how strong District Twelve looks this year, and I can't help but feel they are talking about Katniss, not me. Just like my mother. Our blazing chariot is replayed on the screen, apparently the show stopper this year. Katniss and I, hand in hand. I think back to when the chariots were replayed, and not one of the tributes even registered their fellow tribute, let alone touch them. Of course, I knew what Cinna was doing. He was presenting us not as adversaries, but as friends. Something the Capitol isn't used to. Just when the commentators burst into laughter about one of their flame jokes, Haymitch draws our attention.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it," he says. "Now go get some sleep while the grownups talk."

Katniss and I make our way back to her door. I know I probably shouldn't pry, but I have to know what she was thinking about. I lean up against her door, not exactly blocking her way, not wanting to be rude. I almost regret the idea, because she looks as though she is about to enter anyway.

"So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." I say in a way that if anyone overheard, they wouldn't assume any other relevant information is missing. She stops and looks at me, obviously considering whether or not to answer me. It's like she doesn't want anyone to hear us, which is understandable. I am starting to think that this secret of hers involves her extra activities _outside _District 12's border fence.

She won't want to talk here, people could hear us. Is there even a place in the Capitol where we can risk talking?

The roof; she won't have to worry about anyone hearing us, as long as we talk quietly.

"Have you been on the roof yet?" I ask. She shakes her head. "Cinna showed me. You can see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud though," I say, hoping she will catch on.

"Can we just go up?" she asks, glancing around for any signs of action down the hall. A faint buzz of conversation can be heard down the hall, a few glasses clinking, and Effie Trinket's laughter floating towards us.

"Sure, come one." I say, leading her to the familiar stairs leading to the roof. As we walk outside, I watch Katniss. She seems so genuinely surprised that a place like this exists in the Capitol. That it's not all shiny buildings and brightly coloured people.

I was surprised when I saw the roof too.

We go over to the same railing where Cinna and I were, and she leans over slightly, looking down at the buzzing Capitol life.

"I asked Cinna why they let us up here," I say. "Weren't they worried that some of the tributes might decide to jump right over the side?"

She looks at me, her grey eyes sparkling. "What'd he say?" she asks.

"You can't," I say, remembering Cinna's words from before dinner. I lift my arm up, intending to point in the general direction of where I assumed the electric field would be. Instead, my arm comes into contact with the field, much closer than what I originally thought. A sharp zap fills the air, and I jerk my arm back.

Smooth, Peeta.

"Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof." I say, attempting to cover up my mistake.

"Always worried about our safety," she says. I let out a laugh. The truth is; the Capitol couldn't give a damn about our safety. Back home, the Capitol wouldn't care if somebody was injured in the mines. Sure it was recognised by the workers in the Justice Building. But what did the Capitol citizens do?

Nothing. As long as we are providing something to them, they honestly don't care about our safety. I mean, they are about to send twenty four teenagers to fight to the death. Pfft, safety.

"Do you think they're watching us now?" She asks.

"Maybe," I say. But I don't want to discourage her telling me about the Avox. "Come see the garden."

I lead her around to a built garden, watching her again. After she takes in her surroundings, she glances at me, then examines a blossom.

"We were hunting in the woods one day. Hidden, waiting for game," she begins, barely a whisper.

"You and your father?" I whisper back.

"No, my friend Gale." She says.

I am suddenly filled with a surge of jealousy. Hunting was something Gale and Katniss got to do together. All Katniss and I get to do together is fight for our lives.

"Suddenly all the birds stopped singing at once." She continues. "Except one. As if it were giving a warning call. And then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl. A boy was with her. Their clothes were tattered. They had dark circles under their eyes from no sleep. They were running as if their lives depended on it." She says.

A listened intently as she tells me about the hovercraft appearing, the net catching the girl, the boy being speared and taken up into the hovercraft, over before she even knew what was happening. This sounds so similar to fishing for me. As if their lives were just a game to the Capitol. Just a sport. But then again, fishing is a way of staying alive. It gives you food, keeps you healthy.

There is nothing 'healthy' about this story Katniss is telling me.

"Did they see you?" I ask.

"I don't know. We were under a shelf of rock," she says.

I accept this, and noticed that Katniss is shaking slightly, wether from the cold or the memory, I'm not sure. I decide to go with the former.

"You're shivering," I say, shrugging off my jacket. I wrap it around her shoulders, and I can't help smiling at the sight of it.

"They were from here?" I ask, as I secure a button of my jacket around her neck. She nods, and my finger brushes ever so slightly against her neck. She probably didn't even feel it, but it sends shivers up my arms.

"Where do you suppose they were going?" I ask.

"I don't know that," she says. It is becoming obvious that she doesn't really want to talk about this for much longer.

"And I don't know why they would leave here." She continues.

"I'd leave here," I blurt out without thinking. You idiot Peeta. What if someone heard? I glance nervously past the garden, hoping that nobody did hear my comment.

I laugh, trying once again to cover for myself. "I'd go home now if they let me. But you have to admit, the food's prime." I say. "We better go in, it's getting chilly."

She nods, and I lead her back down towards her door again. "Your friend Gale, he's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?" I ask.

"Yes. Do you know him?" she asks.

Crap. Offcourse I know him.

"Not really." I lie. "I hear the girls talk about him a lot. I thought he was your cousin or something. You favour each other."

I'm getting good at this lying thing.

"No, were not related." She says.

Even though I already knew the truth, I still had hoped that my knowledge was wrong. Offcourse they're not related. What kind of cousin looks that way at another cousin the way Gale does Katniss?

"Did he come say goodbye to you?" I ask, thinking of my promise to him. I can feel her observing me, but I remain focused on the flooring.

"Yes," she says. "So did your father. He bought me cookies."

Surprised, I raise my eyebrows at her. I didn't get any cookies.

"Really? Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys." I say.

I don't think that. I know that. When I was younger, I would often hear my father mumbling when he is in a bad mood. It changes, but mostly along the lines of; "...Girls wouldn't smell so much..." or "...a girl'd be a better cleaner than the boys..." But whenever he was in his foul moods, we used to sheer him up by having him tell us stories. Quite often it would be about the beautiful town girl who ran off with the coal miner instead of the baker. I never liked that story. I mean, honestly, a coal miner over a baker?

"He knew your mother when they were kids," I say, remembering another of his stories.

"Oh, yes. She grew up in the town," she says. We arrive at her door, and she hands me back my jacket.

"See you in the morning then." She says.

"See you," I say, a little disappointedly. I turn away from her, and walk down to my room, past the painting of the girl with the berries. I enter my room, once again not bothering with a shower. I will have to have one tomorrow before training. I throw my jacket onto my bed, change my clothes and lie down. I can't help but notice how lovely my bed smells. Sweet and fresh, with a hint of... is that pine?

Then I realise, I'm lying on my jacket. It's Katniss. The lovely smell is Katniss. With that knowledge, I hug my jacket close and drift off to an easy sleep.

**Sorry for the long wait. TRAINING NEXT CHAPTER! WOO! I have been trying to right amongst school work and other commitments, but please don't hate me if it takes a little long. I'm sorry, but I am trying **

**Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing! I really appreciate it. You are AWESOME!**

**Enjoy, and please, please review. 70 reviews! Absolutely amazing everyone! Thank you so much! PLEASE KEEP REVIEWING :D**

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**TMG.**


	10. Dreams

Chapter 10

I do not own the Hunger Games The characters and the world of Panem belongs to Suzanne Collins. I don't know what I would do without her.

**Tenth Chapter! WOO! It's a long one. So maybe you could leave me a review in return?**

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

_I adjust myself to a more comfortable position, leaning back against a tree to continue watching. My eyes scanned the small clearing in the trees. Nothing. I glance over at Katniss's sleeping form. It's been like this since we got into the arena. She hunts, I guard, and we survive. The first few days were difficult. The careers followed us, eager to kill Katniss. To them, she is a threat. But we got away, eventually. The careers followed a false trail that Katniss set a few hours ago._

_Her steady breathing next to me is the only sound in our small camp. Katniss lies with her body curled around her bow that we snagged from the cornucopia. The spear in my hand rests against my leg, ready for someone to come close. We are doing well. We aren't hurt, only a few grazes and cuts from the chase with the careers._

_Haymitch hasn't done too badly with our sponsors either. They sent us a few loaves of bread when we get hungry and medicine in case our cuts get infected. Katniss is safe, that's what's important. I shake her shoulder gently, waking her. It's her turn for watch. Just as her eyes start to adjust, we are attacked. Four figures lunge into our little clearing, all brandishing heavy weapons. I leap up, followed shortly by Katniss. She shoots an arrow, right into the eyes of a career. Just like her squirrels. He falls, a canon sounds, resonating around the Arena. No doubt all sleeping tributes are awake now. The other three careers attack, using brute force to push Katniss and I away from each other. Separating the targets. Smart._

_I bring my spear up, waiting for a career to strike. One does. He runs towards me, tripping on a root, impaling himself on my spear. I swear, the careers are getting more and more stupid. Another cannon fires, and I grimace, trying to pull out my spear. Katniss shoots another arrow, but her target turns in time. It sinks into his arm, and he cries out in pain. A flash of metal catches my eye, and I turn to see a spear speed towards me. Before I have a chance to move, it sinks into my stomach will a dull thump. Katniss screams, the shot career taking advantage of her hesitation, bring a knife to her neck. She freezes, staring at me with horror._

_Pain; intense, burning, pain. I double over, grunting as my knees impact with the ground. This is it. This is the end. I cruel laugh fills my ears, and I look up from my profusely bleeding wound to the cold eyes of the last two careers. _

"_That was smart, a false trail. No doubt her idea." He hisses, gesturing to Katniss. "Too bad it didn't work.". His companion tightens his hold on Katniss's neck. She whimpers as a trickle of blood slowly falls down her neck._

"_Get...away...from...her..." I managing, gasping in pain._

"_How about NO?" His companion says, laughing. He lands a light kiss on her cheek, earning a growl from me._

"_You know, you were quite easy to find. You, Peeta, make a lot of noise. You lead us right to her," says the career, smiling maliciously down at me._

"_No!" I cry. I was protecting her, not leading them to her. "No!"_

"_Now, I think, you can watch her die." He says, holding her sword just over Katniss's heart._

"_NO! I cry. "STOP PLEASE!" But they don't listen._

_Katniss whimpers, her eyes catching mine. 'Help' she mouths, tears streaming down her face._

"_KATNISS!" I cry, just as he drives his sword home._

_A cannon fires._

_**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O**_

I wake, breathing heavily, to a sharp rap on my door.

"Come on boy! I swear; somebody could feed the whole of Panem by the time you bother to wake up," grumbles Haymitch through the door.

Haymitch is absolutely lovely in the morning. I roll over, noticing that my bed is drenched in sweat. I stumble out of bed and into the shower, punching the panel of buttons once again and hoping for the best. I let the water soak my skin, washing away the dream. After being assaulted by a series of soaps, shampoos and sweet smelling bubbles, I notice the outfit lying on the bench waiting for me. Apparently today I will be wearing tight black trousers and a burgundy tunic.

Wonderful.

My growling stomach suddenly starts a war with my common sense, and I put on my trousers backwards. Absolutely fantastic. After a rather large struggle, I make my way to breakfast, my feet clad in leather shoes placed in my wardrobe.

I am not having a good morning.

As I start towards the dining room, I am joined by Haymitch, still grumbling. I suspect he hasn't had any alcohol in a while. Good. A sober mentor is a good mentor. What am I kidding? ANY mentor right now is a good mentor. I doubt Katniss needs a mentor. She could probably just climb a tree somewhere while the rest of us starve or fight to the death. Good; as long as she is safe.

The silence right now is rather awkward. Haymitch and I haven't been alone since the night he passed out in his own vomit. I think he feels guilty. I know why though. He thinks that Katniss has a chance in the games. Me? Not so much. But he's right. I was never going to make it far in the Arena anyway. I always thought that when I got into the Arena, I would protect Katniss. But after my dream last night, I am starting to doubt that idea. I honestly have no clue to what I am going to do now. I am too loud to be with Katniss, but I don't want to leave her by herself.

"Haymitch, can I ask you something?" I ask tersely, attempting to ease the tension.

"You just did." he says gruffly. I roll my eyes. He nods his head, beckoning me to continue.

"Well, I had this dream last night. And Katniss was there. We wer-"

"She really has you hooked, hasn't she?" Haymitch interrupts. I frown. Hooked?

"What do you mean?" I ask, unsure if I want to hear the answer or not.

"She really has an effect on you, doesn't she?" He asks, his face growing more and more serious. I watch my feet, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

"You love her." It isn't really a question, more of a statement. Without giving Haymitch a chance to continue, I open the door to the dining room. Once again, the beautiful aromas of food swirl about the room, drawing me towards the table. I notice Katniss in a chair opposite mine, looking pointedly at my outfit; the same as hers. Great.

"Morning" greets Haymitch, falling into a chair next to me. Always polite to her, considerably. Well, at least better than he is to me. "Good morning Katniss," I say. Katniss smiles at us, but I can tell her mind is elsewhere. She's nervous, about the training. So am I. There are three days of training in which all the tributes practise together. On the last afternoon, we all get a chance to show the Gamemakers what we've got.

Who wouldn't be nervous?

She fiddles with a piece of bread, which I immediately recognise as a seeded, crescent- moon shaped roll; District Eleven bread. I finish my meal, and watch as Haymitch finishes platter after platter of stew. I grimace slightly as some stew dribbles down his chin. And Effie thought _Katniss and I _were bad. He takes a flask from his pocket and takes a long drink. And I thought he was sober. I was so wrong.

"So, let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now." Haymitch says, clasping the lid back on the flask.

Separate coaching? Why? My dream floats through my mind again, but I shake it away.

"Why would you coach us separately?" Katniss asks, voicing my thoughts.

"Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," says Haymitch. I strain, trying not to laugh. Everyone in their right mind knows that I don't have any secret skills, besides baking, but that isn't a secret. I look at Katniss, and she looks at me. I see in her eyes that she may actually be considering training separately. For some reason, this bugs me.

"I don't have any secret skills," I say quickly. "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels." She looks relatively surprised by this. She probably thinks we eat the food we bake. Nope. Most of our supplies come from the Capitol, so they're 'not ours to eat', as my mother put it. We only eat the occasional stale loaf that nobody has purchased. Other than that, we have to scrap up money to buy ourselves meat from the butcher. Most of the time we can't afford the meat from the butcher, so when my father brings inside a squirrels from Katniss, it's like a blessing.

"You can coach us together," says Katniss quietly. I nod

"All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," says Haymitch.

"I can't do anything," I say straight away. "Unless you count baking bread."

"Sorry, I don't. Katniss. I already know you're handy with a knife," says Haymitch.

"Not really. But I can hunt," she says. "With a bow and arrow."

"Are you good?" asks Haymitch. HA! She's more than good. She's brilliant. I remember my father bringing in a squirrel that she shot. I honestly thought it was still alive, aside from the fact that its eyes were closed. There wasn't a hair out of place on its little fury body. It was amazing. That was probably the best squirrel I had ever had. Then there was other time that she did the amazing shot right-

"I'm all right," says Katniss, interrupting my thoughts.

Wait, did she honestly just say 'all right'?

"She's excellent," I say, correcting Katniss. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrow never pierces the body. She hits everyone in the eyes. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer." Haymitch raises his eyebrows at me suggestively.

_...has you hooked..._

I lower my eyes, glaring at the role in my hand. I can feel Katniss's eyes boring into my face, but I concentrate on my role. What is she doing? She is supposed to tell Haymitch about her skills! Not blow it off like its nothing. Haymitch has to see the potential in her, train her better than me, and get her home to safety. After all, there is always a favourite.

"What are you doing?" she asks, suspiciously. I'm surprised by this.

"What are you doing? If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself," I say. I see annoyance flare in her eyes.

"What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift fifty kilo bags of flour," she snaps at me. "Tell him that. That's not nothing."

She's noticed me. The thought stays in my mind, but my attention focuses on her. She has a remarkable temper. I guess that's why her and Gale are close; their tempers. The thought annoys me, and I think back to the promise I made Gale. Bring her home. I want to, but it doesn't help when she underrates herself all the time.

"Yes and I'm sure the arena will be full of sacks of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't." I shoot back at her. Annoyance flares in her eyes again. I can't help but love her more. Obviously, she doesn't see that in my eyes, because she turns to Haymitch.

"He can wrestle," she says. "He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother."

As delighted as I am to have her notice me, I get frustrated with the attention on my skills. She has to be the focus, not me.

And I never did like people talking about that tournament. I didn't talk to Arthum for days after. I wish I could have those days now.

"What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?" I ask, slightly disgusted. I remember wrestling with Arthum, how it was a constant struggle against gravity, trying to get the upper hand. Doing that until death? I held back a shudder.

"There's always hand to hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" she cries.

"But you won't be! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows. You know what my mother said to me when she came to say goodbye, as if to cheer me? She says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realised, she didn't mean me, she meant you!" I burst out. I clench my fists together in anger, the memory forming a lump in my throat, my mother's fierce words ringing through my head.

"Oh she meant you," she says, waving her hand dismissively.

"She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' _She _is," I say, watching as guilt washes over her beautiful features. She thinks on that, before speaking so quietly I almost missed it.

"But only because someone helped me." I look down at the roll in her hands, and I am back to the rainy day behind the bakery. I force the images out of my head once again.

"People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you." I say, not actually believing that she feels otherwise.

"No more than you," she says. I roll my eyes.

"She has no idea. The effect she can have," I say, looking at Haymitch. He quirks his eyebrow knowingly at me. I look down, concentrating intently on the wood. Mahogany.

"Well then. Well, well, well. Katniss, there's no guarantee there'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?"

"I know a few basic snares," she mutters, obviously still angry.

"That may be significant in terms of food," says Haymitch. "And, Peeta, she's right, never underestimate strength in the arena." I humph. "Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. IN the training centre they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear, swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you are good at until your private sessions. Are we clear?"

We nod.

"One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute," he says. Both of us start to object, but he slams his hand down. "Every minute! It's not up for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

With that, Katniss storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her. I watch her go, wishing she wasn't so angry at me.

"What was that?" I shout, fixing my glare on Haymitch.

"What was what?" Haymitch asks innocently.

"Oh I don't know; the fact that you just told Katniss and I to spend every waking minute with each other!" I say.

"I thought you'd be happy about that." He says with a suggestive wink. I glare at him some more.

"You haven't figured it out, have you?" He asks.

"Figured what out?" I say acidly. He sighs.

"What does the capitol like most, Peeta?" The question stops me.

"Um...food?" I say, unsure.

"And?"

"The games?"

"You're almost there Peeta."

"Death?"

"Something to be excited for." He says, seeing my confused expression. He continues. "Capitol viewers are excited by young love, Peeta. They think it's tragic, sad."

Oh.

"Something being the tragic story of loving your fellow tribute, but destined for death. That will get you sponsors." He says.

"Just like what Cinna said." I say, finally understanding.

"Cinna?" Haymitch asks.

"Yeah, don't worry; he just said the exact same thing." I say.

"Right, well, I know it won't be hard for you to act like you love her, considering, but we just need the Capitol to find out."

"How?"

"I don't know, but we will figure it out when the time comes. It's almost ten. You should go." I nod, making my way towards the elevator. It is a smart idea, I guess. I'm not too keen on having the whole of Panem know my feelings to Katniss, let alone Katniss herself, but I guess if it helps Katniss in the Arena in the end, I'll do it.

I see Effie standing impatiently at the elevator. When I get close enough, she fusses over my hair, attempting to settle it. When Katniss emerges from her room, she doesn't even glance at me, let alone acknowledge my existence at all. We make our way to the training rooms, which turns out to be like an enormous gymnasium, filled with weapons, stands and courses for each individual skill. We are shuffled into the tense circle of tributes, all sizing each other up. A white cloth with the number _12 _is pinned to our matching outfits. Katniss and I are the only two dressed alike.

This shall be interesting.

**I am thinking of changing my pen name to PROCRASTINATOR101 or something similar haha. This was a long one! So I understand that I promised training in this chapter, and this finishes JUST before any training, but I realised this chapter was necessary. I truly am sorry, but this just adds to any further decisions Peeta has to make and it just helps for future dilemmas in the story. I promise that you will get training next chapter. **

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and support! So close to a hundred reviews! Oh my gosh! I hope you enjoy chapter 10 :)**

**Did anyone catch the movie reference? Let me know in a review if you did :) In other words, PLEASE REVIEW!**

**Xx**

**TMG **


	11. Training

Chapter 11

I do not own the Hunger Games J The characters and the world of Panem belongs to Suzanne Collins. I don't know what I would do without her.

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

A fierce looking lady is standing above us, watching us like a hawk. Atala, I think her name is. She was the one who explained our training schedule. This station does this, this station does that, don't fight each other; the obvious stuff. I barely pay attention to her; I'm too busy watching the other tributes.

Most of the tributes this year are tall, but malnourished. You can tell. They have this unhealthy look to their bodies. It's quite sickening. District Twelve is usually in the worst shape, but Katniss and I both have had reasonable amounts of food growing up, even if it was a bit of a rough start to begin with. Images of that rainy night with the burnt bread flickers through my mind, but I quickly shake myself out of it in time to see the quite healthy, and quite intimidating Careers from Districts 1 & 2 look around at the stations with interest. When we are free to move, they immediately progress towards the weapons. The small girl with dark hair moves to the knives, the tall blonde boy goes to the swords, whilst the two from District One head towards the spears.

The Careers this year are a bit bigger than I was hoping. But as long as Katniss gets her hands on a bow, she'll be fine. As long as I am not with her, slowing her down and leading the Careers right to her. I nudge Katniss lightly, watching her jump faintly. She was watching the Careers too.

"Where would you like to start?" I ask, hoping that she won't go towards any of the weapons just yet.

"Suppose we tie some knots," she says. I smile, at least attempting to be friendly.

"Right you are," I say, as we cross to an obviously unpopular stall. I struggle with the tying, but Katniss seems to do pretty well at it. The trainer shows us a complicated snare, which I can't really remember the purpose of, for about an hour. I throw a glance to a station a few metres away, with pots of paints, sticks, leaves and more; camouflage. We move there next, and I love it. It's like back home with the cakes. I get lost in the swirls of colours and the blends of shades. The Trainer at this station is very enthusiastic about my ability with paint. I see Katniss watching my hands as I swirl patterns on my arm, concentrating on the light changes, as if the sunlight has fallen through the leaves of a tree.

"I do the cakes," I say hesitantly, wondering how she will react.

"The cakes?" she says, now watching the District Two, who are still at the spear station. Does she forget the cakes at home?

"At home. The iced ones, for the bakery," I say, hoping she remembers.

She stares intently at my arm, and I know she remembers the cakes. Prim used to love them, of course she would remember.

"It's lovely," she says, indicating to my arm. "If only you could frost someone to death." I remember Arthum asking if the Arena will ever be a cake. I laugh.

"Don't be superior. You can never tell what you'll find in the Arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake—" I begin.

"Say we move on," Katniss breaks in. Ouch.

We pass from station to station for the next three days, learning new things. We learn to start fires, which I find particularly easy, given my history with burning things. We throw knives, which I admit to be shocking at, we make shelters, which I am reasonable at, and we do the edible eating plants test as well. Never in my life have I felt so stupid, than after that test. I do extremely well at the hand-to-hand combat, which is great, but all I really want to do is get to those weights. I can tell Katniss is itching towards the target range, were a wall of bows and arrows is sitting, but we can't. We promised Haymitch. And besides, what else could I possibly do for my private session.

I look up at the Gamemakers, who have been keeping quite an eye on District Twelve this year, which is a bit daunting. But I see them laughing and pointing towards the ceiling, where a small girl is swinging from rope to rope, about twelve years old. The girl, I think I heard her name as Rue, smiles down at me, her dark eyes twinkling as she places her fingers to her lips. I smile and nod back, putting my attention back on the food being served. Katniss and I eat together, and we try to keep up friendly conversation. But no matter how hard I try, I still feel like there is a thin layer of ice separating us. In desperation of a topic, I empty the bread bowl in between us, discussing the careful arrangement of bread from each district. When I get to the District Eleven bread, I glance at Rue, who is sitting by herself a few tables away. Her stare is directed on Katniss, her eyes filled with wonder and admiration. I can't help but think that if she was from District Twelve, her and Prim would be great friends.

"And there you have it," I say, scooping the breads back into the basket.

"You certainly know a lot," says Katniss, obviously not as impressed by the bread as I was.

"Only about bread," I say, when I notice all of the Careers have turned in their seats to look at us. Katniss, with her back to them is oblivious. "Okay, now laugh as if I have said something funny." I say, hoping that this will work. We both give a convincing laugh, ignoring the stares from the Careers. After a while, they regain interest in their food.

"Alright," I say. "I'll keep smiling pleasantly and you talk."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?" she asks. For the next half an hour, Katniss recalls her account with a black bear and a beehive, and I listen intently, laugh, and ask questions. It works, but by the end my cheeks are aching with strain.

Sleep each night comes easily. I am so worn out by each training session that I hardly remember the trip from the training room to my bedroom. I haven't had the dream again yet, and I am hoping it never comes back.

One day whilst Katniss and I are taking a shot at the spear throwing, which we are both quite good at, I spot Rue. She is watching us from around the corner, her eyes wide with concentration.

"I think we have a shadow," I whisper to Katniss, as she throws her spear. She spots Rue, watches her for a second, before turning to me.

"I think her name's Rue," I say fondly. The girl has grown on me in the last few days.

"What can we do about it?" Katniss asks, and I am taken aback by her harshness.

"Nothing to do," I say. "Just making conversation with you."

Back up in our floor, Haymitch and Effie drill us to the bone about what we did, who we talked to, what we learnt. When we finally escape to bed on our last night before the private sessions, I mumble to Katniss, "Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink." She laughs, and then stops herself.

"Don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around." She says.

I sigh. "All right, Katniss," I say, walking back to my room. After that, we only talk in front of people, which is quite disappointing. The next day, they start to call us out of lunch for our private sessions. District by District, first the boy, then the girl. We stay in the dining room, tension swirling above our heads like a mass cloud. By the time Rue is called, I panic. What am I going to do? Throw stuff? I look down at my hands to see that they are trembling slightly. So much for being brave Peeta. They call me, and I stand, broadening my shoulders and suck in a breath.

"Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw weights," says Katniss, obviously surprised by her own outburst.

"Thanks. I will," I say. "You...shoot straight." I say. Great, now I sound like a total— She nods, interrupting my thoughts. As I walk into the gymnasium, I look up at the Gamemakers, and instantly know that they are drunk. Only one or two of them even register that I am in the gymnasium at all. I can tell all they want is to go home by now. There's nothing I can do but continue with what I already planned, which is nothing. Great.

I spy a rack of heavy weights, all lined up along the wall. I walk over, knowing that I am wasting time. I pick up a large circular weight that says 25kg with my right arm, and take it to the middle of the gymnasium, where a dummy stands twenty feet away. I throw the weight like a Frisbee, but it falls just short of the dummy. The Gamemakers laugh, having noticed what I was attempting to do. Frustrated, I retrieve the weight, and try again. This time, I throw harder, channelling all of my frustrations from these last few days, and watch as the weight plummets towards the dummy, knocking it back onto the ground. No reaction from the Gamemakers. Well, besides the start of a drinking song that sounds dreadful. Well, that's that. I think they have already made their decision.

I move back to the weights, and grab a heavy ball, and I throw it half way across the gymnasium. What do you know, I am pretty strong. I try again, but this was much heavier than the first. I drop it, and it barely misses my foot. I look up to see the Gamemakers more interested in their wine than me, so I decide to test my ability in weight lifting. I go back to the wall, and lift each of the weights. When I reach the 80kg mark, I stop, dropping the weight to the floor. I look up at the Gamemakers again, but some of them have fallen asleep, other stuffing their faces with food. I sigh. One of them, whom I guessing is Seneca Crane, says I can go, turning back to a massive dead pig that just arrived.

I leave, heading straight back to District Twelve's floor. On the elevator trip upwards, I stare at myself in the reflective glass. I am partly ashamed of my performance in there. Portia and Cinna went to such great efforts to make us known, and I go and blow it. Katniss is probably in there now, shooting targets and earning a high score. A high score that will get her sponsors, people will now her, and the careers will probably target he-

Crap.

I exit the elevator, only to be bombarded by Effie.

"How did it go? What did you do? Did you lift weights? What did the Gamemakers think? Are you confident that-" Effie begins.

"Effie!" Haymitch calls, which I am grateful for. "Shut. Up." He says. Effie pouts, but remains quiet.

"Well?" Haymitch asks.

"Well nothing. I'm going to go take a shower." I say dismissively. They begin to protest, but I am already out of the door. The water soothes me, makes me forgot about my appalling display this afternoon. Well, at least for a diminutive morsel. A door slamming shakes me out of my small reverie, meaning Katniss must be back. I swear she has a fixation with slamming doors.

I make my way to dinner, and I'm surprised that even Portia and Cinna are there. Portia runs up to hug me, but Cinna just gives me a friendly nod. I nod back. Guilt overwhelms me as I consider their efforts, and how I threw that all away. It's good to see them, considering they haven't been around since the start of training. I sit down at the table, and notice that Katniss is missing from her usual spot across from me. As if on cue, she enters, looking around quickly before serving herself some fish soup. I serve myself, and listen to the adults talk about the weather. When Katniss meets my eye, I quirk and eyebrow, as if silently asking her _what happened? _She shakes her head slightly, and I drop it.

"Okay, so enough small talk- just how bad were you today?" Haymitch asks. I jump in before Katniss has a chance.

"I don't know that it mattered. By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So i threw around some heavy objects until the told me to go."

"And you, sweetheart?" says Haymitch. Why does he always have to call her sweet heart? Its unnerving. We all watch Katniss as she answers.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers." She says, as if it is the most obvious thing to do in that situation. I can't blame her. It took all that I'm worth not to throw those weights up at them.

"You what?" Effie gasps.

"I shot an arrow at them. Not exactly at them. In their direction. It's like Peeta said, I was shooting, and they were ignoring me and I just...I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth!" she says boldly.

"And what did they say?" asks Cinna vigilantly.

"Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that," she says.

"Without being dismissed?" exclaims Effie, horror-struck.

"I dismissed myself." She says. I'm immediately worried. What if she gets a low score, then no sponsors will help her. I certainly won't be able to help, I'd just lead everyone too her. Not that I'd have any sponsors anyway, especially with my feat this afternoon. I zone out, thinking about ways to help Katniss, failing, and being drawn back by Haymitch's words.

"...More likely they'll make your life hell in the arena." He says.

"Well, they've already promised to do that to us anyway," I scoff.

"Very true," says Haymitch. "What were their faces like?" he asks Katniss.

She smiles. "Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them. One man tripped backwards into a bowl of punch." She says, laughing.

We all laugh, except Effie, who is suppressing a smile.

"Well, it serves them right. It's their job to pay attention to you. And just because you come from District Twelve is no excuse to ignore you. I'm sorry, but that's what I think." She says, to no one in particular.

"I'll get a very bad score," Katniss says.

"Scores only matter if they're very good; no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy," says Portia.

"I hope that's how people interpret the four I'll probably get," I say. "If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of metres? One almost landed on my foot." Katniss grins at me, and I marvel at the sight. It has been so long since I have seen that smile, and I am star struck.

After dinner, we go to the sitting room to watch the scores announcement. First they show a photo of the tribute, then flash their score below it. The Careers naturally get in the eight-to-ten range, whilst the others average around a five. Rue comes up with a seven, which is surprising, but by now my hands are sweating and fidgeting. District 12 comes up last, as usual. My face flashes up on the screen, followed quickly by an eight. An eight! It's like the reaping all over again. I can't believe it! Obviously some of those Gamemakers were watching. Either that or they forgot which one I was and gave me somebody else's score.

Katniss's face appears, followed by an eleven. I was not expecting an eleven.

"This must be a mistake. How... how could that happen?" Katniss asks.

"Guess they liked your temper," says Haymitch. She does have a big temper. "They've got a show to put on. They need some players with some heat."

"Katniss, the girl who was on fire," says Cinna. "Oh, wait until you see your interview dress."

"More flames?" she asks. Oh god.

"Of a sort." He says impishly. I cringe. Usually, I would probably be jealous to the treatment that Katniss is getting. But, I don't mind. As long as Katniss makes an impression, and people sponsor her, I'm fine. It's the eleven and the Careers that I'm worried about.

Katniss and I congratulate each other, another awkward moment. Katniss, Cinna, Portia and Effie leave for the night, leaving just Haymitch and I.

"You know what this means, don't you?" I ask, causing Haymitch to start.

"That Katniss is a target." Haymitch says attentively.

"Exactly. Listen, I know you want us to pull this whole friends thing, and trust me, I don't mind spending time with Katniss. But I had this dream the other night-" I begin.

"Here we go," Haymitch says, cutting me off.

"No, listen. Katniss and I, we were a team. Katniss got a high score, and the careers were after us. We were doing well, but then they found us. Just before they killed Katniss, you know what they said? They said I led them right to her. And that got me thinking. They are right. I am way too loud, and much too big to be able to climb trees and hunt with Katniss, I will just attract the Careers. So what if I don't ally with her, I ally with somebody else?" I say.

"Peeta, I think-"

"No, I mean, what if I 'lead them to her'? As in I team with the Careers, say that I know where Katniss is, and lead them in the actual opposite direction of her!" I say.

Haymitch thinks on this, his eyes distant in thought.

"How will they believe that you know where she is?" he asks. Right. Didn't think of that.

"Well, we can figure out a way to make them believe that I would know where she is, make them believe that we are connected somehow." I say.

"Right, okay. You know boy, you are actually a lot smarter than you look."

I choose not to comment on that. After all, I am going to need his help.

"Hang on, wait, you are forgetting something here. You are from District Twelve, Peeta. The Careers aren't just going to let you ally with them with open arms." He says.

I really should have put more thought into this.

"Well, how can I get them to notice me?" I ask.

Haymitch thinks, both of us with our heads bent in contemplation.

"Peeta," Haymitch says, breaking my thoughts. I look up.

"They are going to have to trust you. They have to know that you understand Katniss well enough to even have a clue where she may be in the arena. Think Peeta, how would somebody know Katniss that well?" he asks.

I look at him, confusion sweeping across my face. Then it dawns on me. I stare at Haymitch, shaking my head slightly. No. No I can't do that.

"Peeta, they're going to have to know you love her."

**HELLO! Finally putting up another chapter, sorry about the wait :P THANKYOU SO MUCH! We reached 100 reviews! WOOOOO! Thank you to those who are favouring this story, reviewing it, alerting it, you get the picture. I really really really appreciate it. By the way, those who were interested in the Finnick and Annie story I am planning, I just posted the prologue/first chapter! So please check it out, it's on my profile, and please leave me a review :) I am planning to concentrate on this one more, but I will update that one occasionally. Training is done! WOO! This is the longest chapter I have ever written, so please leave me a review to commemorate that :) Thank you everyone!**

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**TMG **


	12. Absolutely Dashing

Chapter 12

I do not own the Hunger Games. The characters and Panem belongs to Suzanne Collins. I don't know what I would do without her.

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

_Recently;_

"_Peeta," Haymitch says, breaking my thoughts. I look up._

"_They are going to have to trust you. They have to know that you understand Katniss well enough to even have a clue where she may be in the arena. Think Peeta, how would somebody know Katniss that well?" he asks._

_I look at him, confusion sweeping across my face. Then it dawns on me. I stare at Haymitch, shaking my head slightly. No. No I can't do that._

"_Peeta, they're going to have to know you love her." _

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

"What?" I ask, hardly containing my disbelief. "I can't even tell Katniss, let alone the whole of Panem!"

Haymitch looks at me sadly, as if contemplating the right way to convince me. "Peeta, the only way the Careers would believe that you have any idea where Katniss would be, is if they know that you love her. If somebody loves someone, they know a heck of a lot about them, right?" he says.

"Well, not all of the time. Have you ever heard of 'Love at first sight'?" I ask. Haymitch gives me a deathly look, silencing me.

"You know what I mean. If the careers believe that you know her strengths, her weaknesses, everything to know about her, they will let you in." He says.

I sigh. I know he is right, but the thought of announcing my love for Katniss to the whole of Panem is slightly daunting.

"Hang on," I say. "How do I announce this?"

Haymitch scratches his head, his eyes slightly glazed over in thought. Suddenly he looks up.

"The interview!" he practically shouts. I groan. The tribute interviews are two nights away. How am I going to do this? Katniss will bite my head off, I'm sure of it.

"But how will I bring it up? I am not just going to randomly blurt out my feelings for Katniss!" I say.

"Caesar Flickerman. He will most likely ask you about a girl back home." Haymitch says confidently.

"But what if he doesn't?" I ask, my nerves making my voice break. Haymitch sighs.

"He will, Peeta." He says. I stare at my shoes. What if the Careers don't believe it? What if they just kill me and go after Katniss anyway?

Well that is probably the most likely thing that is going to happen. Eventually they'll realise that I am leading them the wrong way. I guess that's a risk I will just have to take.

"You are going to have to be coached separately from now on. Tomorrow we will coach you on your interview, so Katniss cannot know about this until the actual interview." Says Haymitch.

"Why does Katniss not have to know?" I ask.

"Because then it will look fake. The Capitol won't believe it." He says. "The Capitol has to love you Peeta."

I stand up, nodding my head, and slowly exit the dining room. I walk back to my room, my head bowed in thought. What if no-one believes me? Will this get Katniss and I sponsors? The Careers need to believe me, I need to protect her. It's all I've got. What about the interview?

I open my door to a dull thud, opening it wider to see the avox that Katniss recognised. Her eyes are wide, and what were once folded sheets now lay in a bundle at her feet. She shuffles the sheets into her arms and retreats backwards quickly, her head bowed.

"It's okay," I say, reaching out a hand to calm her. But this seems to frighten her even more. Her eyes grow wider and she goes rock still.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I say hesitantly. "My name is Peeta."

She bows her head again, and finishes folding the sheets. I sigh, moving towards the wardrobe. I grab some fresh clothes and head towards the shower.

When I return, she is still there. Her brow is furrowed in concentration as she makes my bed.

"Here let me help," I say, tossing my dirty clothes quickly onto the chair near the desk. I start to help spread the sheets, and she immediately moves away from me to the clothing. She collects them, and puts them into a bag filled with what I assume is dirty clothes.

I let out a frustrated sigh, and climb into bed. I have a feeling that I won't get much sleep tonight. Why is it that I'm in love with Katniss? All it's brought me is trouble.

"Have you ever been in love?" I ask the avox, and immediately regret it. Her face softens into an excruciatingly saddened smile. Then as fast as it was there, it's gone. She bows her head and hurries out of the room. I lie back down, and pull the blankets up to my chin. Fatigue washes over me, and I slip into an uncomfortable slumber.

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

Effie knocks on my door, reminding me that there is another "big, big, big day!" ahead. The interviews are only tomorrow night, so you can tell Effie is stressing. When she speaks, her voice is a few notches higher than usual.

I make my way to breakfast and find Haymitch sipping a cup of coffee. In front of him is a steaming bowl of stew; wild rice, lamb chunks and dried plums. I serve myself a bowl, and sit opposite him, glancing up from my food at my silent Mentor. He clears his throat, gaining my attention.

"Peeta," he starts. "We have to tell Effie what is going on. She will have a fit if she doesn't know."

I smirk at him. "To be honest Haymitch, I figured you probably already told her."

He frowns. "No, I haven't. But she needs to know a reason for you wanting separate training." I nod, and shovel another spoon of stew into my mouth. An extremely frazzled Effie enters, taking a seat to my right.

"Good morning you two." She says.

"Where've you been?" Haymitch asks, raising an eyebrow at her. I frown, considering the many ways to tell Effie.

I could be considerate, and skip around the actual issue. '_Effie, you are doing such a marvellous job organising all of our timetables, and I think it may be easier for you if Katniss and I train separately, don't you think?'_

Or I could be blunt about it. _Effie, I have to tell the whole of Panem that I love my fellow District Tribute Katniss Everdeen. That way, the careers will accept me so I can' lead them to her'. After all, she did get an eleven, so she's a target. They won't think I'm a threat because I only got an eight. But I won't actually lead them to her, but in the opposite direction that she goes._

Considerate would be nicer and easier for Effie, but blunt would get the real issue out of the way.

Blunt it is. I scowl. This is not going to end well.

"Oh, I had to go wake Katniss. And then I went into the kitchens, because..." she trails off, noticing the look on my face.

"What?" she asks worried. "What is it?"

I share a look with Haymitch, who nods his head. So, I explain.

I tell Effie about my plan with the Careers, our scores, the announcement, every detail I could think of. When I finish, Effie Trinket looks quite pale.

"But..." she sputters. "You'll die! For her!"

I nod.

"Oh that's so romantic!" she cries, flinging herself at me, pulling me into a tight hug. I hug her back, but quickly squirm out of her hold. That was not what I was expecting. I finish of my breakfast, as Haymitch and Effie huddle close to me whispering about my plan. I hear the occasional "...so many flaws..." and "...so dangerous..." from Effie, but I ignore them. This _has_ to work.

When Katniss walks in, I freeze. How will she react? We can't tell her the real reason for me wanting to train separately. She would probably think I am planning on killing her or teaming up with the careers. She would be only partially right.

Katniss eats; Effie and Haymitch talk, and I sit uncomfortably, waiting for someone to tell her; because there is no way in hell that I am telling her. When Haymitch and Effie finally finish talking, we wait on Katniss. She takes a gulp of orange juice, and turns to us.

"So, what's going on? You're coaching us on interviews today, right?" she says. I grimace. Coaching will mean long, gruelling hours of torture with Effie. I suppress a shudder.

"That's right," says Haymitch.

"You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and eat at the same time," says Katniss.

"Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach," says Haymitch. Oh god, here it comes.

"What's that?" she asks, confused. Haymitch shrugs.

Oh no.

"Peeta has been asked to be coached separately."

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

She looks angry for a split second, and then she wipes her face of emotion. I would know, as I stare at her for quite some time, trying to gauge her reaction. I know this is probably the time when we truly become tributes. The moment that Katniss thinks that we truly are enemies. The moment that she thinks I am going to kill her.

Yeah, right.

"Good," she says. "So what's the schedule?" I breathe a sigh of relief. She doesn't seem too upset or angry abou- Did she just say 'good'?

Ouch.

But I guess it's for the best.

"You'll each have four hours with Effie for presentation and four with me for content," Haymitch says. "You'll start with Effie, Katniss."

Once Katniss and Effie leave, Haymitch stands up.

"I need a drink," he says.

"Another? You've had three already and it's not even nine!" I say, smirking. He glares at me and pours himself a strange fluorescent green drink.

"Right. First we need to get you an angle. Something to make the Capitol-"

"Love me, I know." I say.

"Well, I was going to go with 'remember you', but love works too." Says Haymitch.

I roll my eyes.

"Listen Peeta. This is a big deal. The Capitol has to believe that you really love Katniss-"

"I do love Katniss!" I say adamantly.

"But they don't know that do they? You really have to sell it. Be as cheesy as you can." Says Haymitch. I cringe. The only thing remotely cheesy I have ever done is bake the cheese rolls back home in the bakery.

"But what if Caesar doesn't even bring up Katniss?" I ask, befuddled.

"You bring it up. Talk about how beautiful she looks or how well she did with her score or her training session. That's sure to get their attention." He says.

"Okay," I say hesitantly. "So, what's my angle?"

Haymitch leans back in his chair, taking a sip from his drink. He scratches his chin thoughtfully.

"What do you think? What do you think the Capitol will like about you?" he asks.

Not much.

"Well, there is not much to like about a love sick baker from District Twelve who can hardly put up a good fight." I say sarcastically.

"Likeable." He says immediately.

"What? Haymitch, I don't think you heard me. I said there is _not _much to like about a lov-"

"You have this natural self-deprecating humour about you. You immediately put yourself down, it actually makes you funny."

"Thanks?" I say sarcastically.

"Kid, you're a nice boy. You're going to be fine. They will like you. And as soon as you drop the bomb about Katniss, you'll be a hit."

I grimace slightly, and nod my head. The next three and a half hours are spent talking about my plan in the arena, what I need to do to get the Career's attention.

"You may need to take action for them to notice you, but I think that if this 'I'm-in-love-with-Katniss' thing works, you'll have their attention before the games even begin. But be warned. They will try and blackmail you in the Arena. They will say things like 'We'll kill you if you don't find her,'" Says Haymitch. "They'll threaten you. And they will mean it. Are you sure you're up to this?"

"Positive." I say.

We also discuss answers to some of Caesars possible questions, jokes, and how to change the topic to Katniss. Despite previous nerves, I am starting to feel slightly more confident.

After lunch, Effie pulls me into my room, where she layers me in three suits.

"On the stage, it can get quite hot. These suits will help you get a feel for what you may be dealing with." Says Effie.

Sweat dampens my brow as I frown, struggling slightly with the tightness of the jackets and pants. After a half hour of intense heat, we move on to posture. I never knew there were so many way of sitting. I usually just sit, and that's that. Turns out 'just sitting' is "All wrong!" on Effie's account.

"You must never stay in the same position for too long, or the audience may lose interest." She exclaims. Right, because I am sure that the Capitol citizens will be focusing on my posture. Will they?

The next two hours are focusing on walking in fancy shoes that pinch my toes, facial expressions, and focusing on not running my hands through my hair.

"That is incredibly annoying, that," Effie says, gesturing to my hand embedded in my hair. I pull out my hand, and she immediately bustles to fix the blonde mess on my head. I sigh. Only one hour left.

Katniss isn't at dinner. I hope she is okay. Guessing by the sour look on Haymitch's face, her session with him didn't go too well. I excuse myself and head towards Katniss's room. I feel like I should check on her, see if she is okay. I make it down the hall, and stop in front of Katniss's door. I raise my hand to knock, knowing she wouldn't take too kindly to me just barging in.

Shouting on the other side of the door makes me freeze.

"Just leave it! I hear Katniss yell. "Just leave it alone!"

Who is she talking to? I glance around the hall, noticing the trolley with folded sheets, pillow cases, towels and dusters parked just outside the door. She's talking to an avox.

"I should have tried to save you," I hear Katniss say. Save who? The avox? "No, it was wrong."

Confused, I turn back to my room, deciding to leave her alone. Obviously, she needs some space tonight. It's not like her to be yelling at an avox.

I lie awake for quite some time, pondering on the interview tomorrow. No doubt that the whole of tomorrow will be devoted to making me look 'presentable'. That means Lorin, Vista, Armac and Portia will be paying me a visit tomorrow.

Yay.

A sense of restlessness washes over me, and I wrestle my sheets into a more comfortable position. Finally, sleep pulls me into its depths.

My vision is blurred by bright fuzzy colours. They press down on me, blinding me.

Wait, it's just my stylists.

As my sight returns, I focus in on Lorin, Vista and Armac beaming down at me. I groan. They look the same as last time; tattooed, dyed, and extremely colourful.

"Morning Sleepyhead!" Vista practically shouts. I cringe and try to tug the covers up over my head. But seeing as there are three extra bodies on top of the covers than usual, I have no success. I am tugged out of bed and plopped down into a stiff chair in front of the mirror.

"Look at that hair! It's a mess!" exclaims Armac. He and Vista immediately begin working on my hair. Handfuls of hair jell is spread through my hair, rendering it immovable in a slick position.

The rest of the day consists of my stylists transforming me, turning me into a "dashing young man!" as Lorin states. They add make-up to my face, much to my dissatisfaction. When Portia walks in holding a light straight bag containing my outfit, the three stylists gasp.

"Wait until you see your suit! It's absolutely striking!" Vista squeals. Portia smiles kindly at me, gesturing me to stand. She unzips the bag and withdraws a sharp black suit. The sleeves and collar have beautiful flame accents that stand out against the black. I smile at Portia, and take the suit from her outstretched hand.

"It's brilliant," I say, touching the soft flame designs.

After I change, Portia leads me to mirror. The stylists let out gasps and beam at me, while Portia just glows.

"You look dashing," she says. I kiss her check in thanks, and she smiles kindly back at me.

"Come along, we should get going," she says. The stylists bustled out of the room, followed by Portia. After a big breath, I follow too.

When we get to the elevator, Haymitch and Effie are waiting for us. Haymitch gives me a nod, and I give him a shaky smile. He claps me on the back.

"Don't worry boy, you'll be fine." He says in a way that means nothing to the stylists, but everything to me. I nod my thanks, and Effie tugs at my collar.

"Peeta you look dashing!" she exclaims.

"That's what I said," chimes in Portia. Effie smiles at her, but gasps at something over my shoulder. I whip around to find Cinna, Katniss's stylists, and Katniss herself.

She is stunning.

I feel myself go weak at the knees, and my hands start to tremble. I shove them in my pockets, while Haymitch smirks and mouths 'hooked' at me. I glare at him, and look back at Katniss. She practically glows.

When the elevator doors open, I see the other tributes being lined up to take the stage. When we are to go on stage, we will be seated in a large arc across the centre. We'll be in District order, the girl tribute preceding the boy. That means I'll be last.

Great.

At least we'll go out with a bang.

**Hello! Sorry about the wait :( It was a big chapter though! And your reviews make me more motivated and make me write faster. I'm sorry I've just had so much on!**

**Big thanks to those who reviewed Chapter 11;**

**Snow1010, Mrs. Mellark, Spoby, thg98, CiaraMarie96, crazypeetafan2, Kawesome, Mymagination, Katie, ZkktTysoul, AimeeMorales and Guest.**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed previous chapters as well!**

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	13. Interviews

Chapter 13

I do not own the Hunger Games. The characters and Panem belongs to Suzanne Collins. I am just a pixel in which is a picture of SC.

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

Right as we are to take the stage, Haymitch comes up behind us.

"Remember, you're still a happy pair. So act like it." He says gruffly. I glance at the careers to see if they've heard him, but being at the beginning of the line, hearing us probably wasn't possible. But I feel grateful to Haymitch. If Katniss and I still maintain the 'happy pair' act, this whole night will be a bit more believable.

We walk single file onto stage and take our seats. My hands start to sweat, and I wipe them nervously on my pants. As nervous as I am, I can't help but feel excited. I am confident in front of crowds, but announcing your love for someone isn't easy. Blinding lights shine down on us, making it hard to see clearly, but I am still able to make out the bright City Circle lit up with blazing lights. I can even see the elevated seating for prestigious guests, all of the cameras streaming us live to our districts, the balcony full of Gamemakers, and the thousands of Capitol citizens packed into the City Circle. But the person I am most conscious of is Katniss. I take a peek at her from under my lashes, and stunned again at her beauty. She is still glowing; sparkling in the light like a goddess.

When I hear Flickerman's voice, I realize that Katniss has had me in a trance for the past few minutes. I shake my head slightly, straighten up in my seat, and look over to Caesar. I laugh out loud at his hair, which is died a deep blue. It looks utterly ridiculous.

The interviews start, and I take note of all the possible threats, such as the boy from two, and the girl from five. As each of the Districts has their interviews, I start to feel immensely nervous. I spot Haymitch in the crowd, and he nods his head in encouragement. My hands start to quake, and my vision goes slightly fuzzy. I blink ferociously to clear them, probably looking a tad mental to the audience.

I hear ringing in my ears, and I shake my head to see the enormous boy from eleven take his seat again. Katniss's turn. I focus solely on her, in her radiant glory.

She shakes Caesar's hand, and sits, obviously nervous. _Come on Katniss, you can do it._

"So Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?" he asks. I can see that she is struggling as she glances out to the audience. I follow her gaze. Cinna?

"The lamb stew," I hear her say, and I laugh. I guess whatever Cinna told her to do is working. They continue, and Katniss does spectacularly. She answer the questions, even gets laughs. She displays her dress in a way that makes my heart twist, like she did. She is doing a phenomenal job, and I can't take my eyes off of her.

And then Caesar asks about Prim.

Crap.

I can see that she hadn't expected it, and anyone could see the pain in her eyes about leaving her family. She answers Caesar's questions stiffly, emotion controlling her voice. And before I know it, it's my turn. I shake my head one last time, and shake hands with Caesar.

"Peeta Mellark. What a name. So Peeta, tell us, what are the Games going to be like this year, do you think?" he asks me. What kind of question is that?

But something clicks. He's testing me, trying to gauge the type of person I am by how I react to the idea of being slaughtered in an arena.

_Be likeable... be likeable..._

"Well, it could get a bit heated up." I say. Where did that come from? I hear a few laughs from the audience. Why on earth would they laugh at that?

"Oh yes! Speaking of heat, you're opening ceremony was superb! I loved the costume!"

Oh, that's why they were laughing. Well, apparently I've passed the test. I smile politely, laughing off the compliment.

"Now, Peeta do tell, being a baker, what do you think of the Capitol bread?"

I knew bread would eventually come up in the conversation...

"Well, I guess it reflects the people; like in every district. The bread in the Capitol is stylish, and sweet. It's fantastic!" I say, not exactly telling the truth. But they seem to love it. They laugh and squeal like a bunch of heathens.

I watch as Caesar laughs and moves, trying to copy his movements. The crowd seems to love him, so why not give what he's doing a try?

It works. People everywhere laugh at the banter and nonsense Caesar and I exchange.

"What has been the most memorable moment for you so far Peeta?" he asks. I hesitate. This is the moment where I could change from being humorous to sentimental or deep. I could talk about how being on the roof with Katniss was the most memorable moment, or I could be funny. Funny seems to be working out okay so far.

"Definitely the showers," I say jokingly, making many people laugh. "There are so many bathing options, and I honestly didn't know what to press! I caused quite a mess in that bathroom!" I stop myself from making a comment about the 'poor Avox who has to clean that up,' because that may cause a bit of havoc.

"Tell me, do I still smell like roses?" I ask, smiling audaciously. The crowd loves it, shouting out and howling with laughter. Caesar laughs loudly, and we both take turns sniffing each other.

It's weird, but it brings the house down.

Once the laughter dies down, Caesar starts again.

"Now I'm sure many of the ladies in the audience would like to know if you have a girlfriend back home." This earns him quite a few cat calls from the crowd. 'Do you?' he asks.

This is it. This is when it's going to happen.

I realise I haven't given an answer a tad late, and give an unconvincing shake of my head. I cringe, because nobody buys it.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" Caesar asks.

Well, at least he's persistent. Here goes everything, I guess.

"Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping." I say. I never thought I'd be doing this, confessing my love for a girl in front of millions. There are sounds of sympathy coming from the audience that make my stomach squirm.

"She have another fellow?" Caesar asks. My mind automatically flickers to Gale and the promise I made him. He obviously loves her, but does she see it? I suddenly remember one lunch time at school, when I was trying to watch Katniss without making it obvious. She was talking with Gale, and she seemed genuinely interested in what he was saying. The way he was looking at her was sickening, but what was really making me sick was my jealousy. I was jealous that it wasn't me she was talking to.

"I don't know," I say, covering for my lapse in speech. "But a lot of boys like her," I say. While true, knowing that quite a few guys from school like her, I only say it for her benefit; to make her look more desirable. Not that it was necessary; she doesn't need my help in that department.

I hate it. I hate the idea of men from the Capitol thinking Katniss is desirable.

"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" says Caesar, smiling encouragingly. The image forms in my mind; that somehow I end up on top, the victor, returning home without Katniss. The thought is more unbearable than the thought of my imminent death. I shove away the thought and clasp my quivering hands in front of me.

"I don't think it's going to work out," I say with indisputable sadness, giving Caesar a sad smile. "Winning... won't help in my case."

"Why ever not?" Caesar asks.

_This is it. _

_Here we go Peeta._

_You can do it._

I take a deep breath, almost choking in anticipation, and exhale slowly, looking at Caesar with pained eyes.

"Because... because... she came here with me."

**Well, I'm back. Real life decided I had other things to do, including 2 musicals, exams and dealing with some health issues (none truly serious, just **_**distracting**_**). Thank you for your patience, your encouragement while I've been on hiatus, and your feedback. I apologise for the wait and the length of the chapter. It's so short because I really want the next chapter to be the last one before the games actually start.**

**Huge glorious thanks to;**

**Guest, Victoria Ryan, sanityisfiction, NoreThanAPieceInTheirGames12 , It'sMeSenna, Kawesome, MaddiOdair, MaddiBieber, quirkymonkey, Katie, mozvatic, noneya, Nightlock95, maddibrook7, Kewl girl, Sofia, Nikita 1966, Blazing Amethyst, BookFan28, Brianna, PeetaFan, birdysnow, Guest, and crazypeetafan2. **

**Thank you all so much for your kind reviews, you are all fantastic! **


	14. Goodbye

Chapter 14

I do not own the Hunger Games. The characters and Panem belongs to Suzanne Collins. I am just enjoying playing in her sandpit for a while.

{*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*}

If I'm going to be honest, I'm not sure what I was expecting.

Did I expect Katniss to run up and confess her love for me?

No.

Did I expect Snow to miraculously call off the Games in favour of our love?

No.

But when the cameras flicker to Katniss's face my stomach lurches painfully. She looks surprised, shocked, as if she didn't expect it. Of course she didn't. The whole of District 12 knew my feelings for Katniss, except her. I bet her bloody cat Buttercup knew it as well. But something about the way she strains to wipe her face of emotion, the way she stares intently at the floor, makes me realise that she **never** knew. I mean, I always knew she didn't, but a part of me was always in denial, thinking that maybe, just maybe, she knew how I felt. But sitting here, seeing the look on her face is like a blow to the gut. The crowd can't see it, but I can. All she cares about is getting back to Prim, and probably Gale too. And that's what I want, isn't it?

Yes. It is. That's why I'm doing this whole thing in the first place; for her to go home. I'm not sure when I started hoping that she would love me too, hoping that she **would **run up onto the stage and confess her love for me. Of course, that's ridiculous.

But I can't help the disappointment that I feel.

"Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," says Caesar, and it's genuine. The crowd seems to agree, murmuring with anguish. The cameras are on me again, and I can see why the crowd are upset. My face is pale, sweaty and upset.

And I didn't even notice.

"It's not good," I say, swiping my brow with my jacket sleeve. I can just see Portia cringing.

"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady," says Caesar. There is a murmur of agreement from the crowd, mostly male voices. I grip the edge of my seat harder. "She didn't know?"

I almost laugh at the absurdity of his question. I shake my head sadly. "Not until now."

"Wouldn't you just love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar asks the audience. The crowd goes fanatical, screaming assent. I try and hide my panic, the sudden sick feeling in my stomach make my hands sweat. The panic is there in Katniss's eyes as well. I'm surprised nobody else picks up on it. Please no. It's hard enough to announce your love on television, and I doubt I could take getting rejected in the same matter of minutes.

"Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent." Caesar says. I bite my lips to stop myself sighing with relief. "Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours."

The roar of the crowd is deafening, proving Caesars words to be true. But I can't help but think 'All of Panem, except one; Snow.'

I choke out a "Thank you" and return to my seat, rising once again for the anthem.

I feel numb with relief, the interviews are over. But as soon as the wave of relief hits me, another dilemma hits. Tomorrow is the Games, where I am going to die.

As we file back to the lobby, we are sent to the elevators. I see Katniss veer into another car, leaving room for me in one packed with tributes. I step in, and regret it immediately.

Career tributes.

Everywhere.

The girl from One, Glimmer I think her name was, smirks at me, nudging her fellow Careers. One by one they notice me, until finally, the boy from Two, Cato, notices me. I cringe. He seems to be the 'leader' this year. It's like every year; there is always one that stands out. They leer at me, but I refuse to be afraid. If I am, they'll think I'm weak.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Loverboy." Cato sneers at me. The two girls snicker, whispering to each other. I refrain from laughing myself. The nickname is pathetic.

"You going to follow her around like a love sick puppy, aren't you Loverboy?" Glimmer asks, smirking.

The car stops, and the boy and girl from One step of, waving lightly to the others.

"See you in there," says the boy, Marvel, audaciously.

The tributes from Nine and Ten stand awkwardly at the back, trying to get as much distance from myself and Two as possibly.

"You've made quite the impression." The girl, Clove, says snidely, as if she were talking to vermin. I shrug.

"So, let me guess; you and her; the perfect team in the Arena." He says. I shrug again. I can see Cato tense with impatience.

"Well Loverboy, if you love her as much as you say, you'd know her well enough to know what she's up to in the Arena, wouldn't you?" Cato says, looking at me strangely. My thoughts swarm. Wait, this is my chance. Wasn't I the one who said I should 'work' with the Careers? Now is my chance to show them I'm worth it.

"Uh... yeah." It's not at all convincing, but Cato seems to buy it.

"Well, I have a little proposition for you," he sneers, leering closer. "You come with us. You show us were she would go, and we won't kill you in the first five minutes, like we originally planned." Clove laugh snidely.

Did he just...?

Well that was easy.

It would look suspicious if I consent straight away after confessing my love to her, so I flick my eyes to the ground, avoiding eye contact. The car stops again, Cato and Clove exiting.

"Think about it," Cato spits just as the doors close.

The rest of the trip goes quickly, the other tributes filing out as their floor arrives. My thoughts consumed me, confusion clouding my vision. I needed a place to think soon, before my head explodes.

The roof.

I think about the quickest way to get there as the doors to the penthouse open. I step through, and the next thing I know, I'm on the ground, my hands burning with pain. I gasp, bringing my hands to find them covered in blood, deep cuts and shards of glass. I must have landed on the vase. One look behind me at the fake plant on the ground confirms my suspicions.

My hands kill.

I look up to see Katniss looming over me, rage filled eyes practically burning into me.

"What was that for?" I say, anger bubbling inside of me as well.

"You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" She shouts at me. Is she kidding? If only she knew that I just saved her life! I made her look desirable and the Careers just fell into my plan.

The elevators open again, and Effie, Haymitch, Cinna and Portia emerge.

"What's going on?" asks Effie. "Did you fall?"

I refrain from laughing cruelly.

"After she shoved me," I spit out, as Effie and Cinna help me up.

"Shoved him?" Haymitch asks angrily.

"This was your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?" Katniss shrieks. I don't know what makes me do it, maybe it's the thought of Katniss keeping a stable relationship with her only access to help in the arena, but immediately I take the blame.

"It was my idea," I say, lying through my teeth. I wince as I pull out a shard of pottery from my hands. "Haymitch just helped me with it." My vision starts to fade as the pain hits me again, and I slump against the wall a bit.

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" Katniss shrieks. Star-crossed lovers? Where did that come from? Haymitch grabs Katniss and pins her to the wall, growling in her face something about 'miracle' and 'sponsors'. It's only then do I realise that I must have blacked out. I straighten up as Cinna puts him arm around Katniss.

"He's right, Katniss." Cinna says.

"I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid." Says Katniss.

"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real," says Portia. I scoff. Perfect Katniss.

I don't remember feeling this angry since Arthum dropped one of the cakes I had spent hours working on, determined to get every detail right.

"She's just worried about her boyfriend," I say gruffly, tossing aside a shard of urn. Bloody Gale. I wonder what he thinks of all this. I promised him I would protect her. Surely he knows my plan. He must have figured it out by now.

"I don't have a boyfriend," Katniss says, her cheeks burning.

"Whatever," I say. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides, _you _didn't say you loved _me._ So what does it matter?" Acid drips off of my voice, and I know I have been harsh. But I can't shake the feeling that if I don't sit and clear my head soon, I may not make it to the Arena.

Katniss worries about her reaction, stressing that she didn't look believable enough. Funny; she probably thinks I'm just a great actor, and that what I said wasn't true. Now the whole country knows I love Katniss, I even announced on television, yet she still doesn't know.

What else is a guy to do?

"I'm sorry I shoved you," Katniss says to me, her acknowledgment of me forced.

"Doesn't matter," I say shrugging, my anger slowly slipping. "Although it's technically illegal."

"Are your hands alright?" She asks, her voice still icy.

"They'll be alright," I say, effectively finishing the conversation. An awkward silence settles over the room.

"Come on, let's eat," says Haymitch. I'm about to throw the 'I'm not feeling well' excuse to head to the roof, but my stomach makes a sudden lurch. I am hungry, and any food I have now before the Games is vital.

As soon as I plonk down into my chair, my hands start to bleed profusely, soaking a small patch of red on my suit. I look guiltily at Portia for ruining her work, but she just shrugs and takes me to the lift. We make our way down to the lobby that has a separate office for medical treatment. After my hands are heavily wrapped in bandages, we make our way back to the table, finally, to eat.

After dinner, the need to get away suddenly pounds in my head, pushing all other thought aside. But, unfortunately, I am shuffled into the sitting room to watch the replay. I don't look at the screen, because my vision blurs, and my face starts to burn up. I need fresh air.

When the anthem finishes and the screen goes dark, a hush falls on the room.

Tomorrow's the day.

Even though the Games start at ten, Katniss and I have to wake early, no doubt because of all the travelling we will have to do to get to the arena. Haymitch and Effie won't be going with us; they'll be at the Games Headquarters, hopefully signing us sponsors. Portia and Cinna will come with us though, to the very spot which we will be launched into the arena. I shudder.

The feel of someone grasping my hand makes me look up, but it's Effie. She wishes us well, quipping about how she may finally be promoted to a better district. Typical Effie.

As she leaves, Haymitch crosses his arms and looks us both over. I shake my head to get rid of the haze that has settled over me, willing myself to take in any further information Haymitch has to offer.

"Any final words of advice?" I ask, knowing that what he says will be all for Katniss. These tips will be for Katniss, as I'll probably have to do the exact opposite.

"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. You're neither of you up to the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourself and the others, and find a source of water," he says. "Got it?"

"And after that?" Katniss asks.

"Stay alive," says Haymitch. We nod. What else can we say? My head spins again, and I can barely register Katniss heading off to her room. I stagger up to Portia, who smirks slightly.

"Sorry about..." I trail off, gesturing wordlessly at the blood stained suit.

"It doesn't matter Peeta," she says, smiling kindly. She frowns slightly, putting a hand to my forehead. "Are you feeling alright? You look like hell."

"I'm fine," I lie, gently brushing her hand away. "Just need a decent night's sleep, I guess."

"Right. Big day tomorrow, huh?" she smirks.

I put an innocent expression on, feigning a 'butter wouldn't melt in my mouth' look. "Really? I had no idea," I say.

We laugh. Her face suddenly becomes sombre.

"Goodnight Peeta." She says, her gaze pitying.

"Night," I say, trudging past her and too my room. Barely functioning properly, I force my limbs to cooperate by standing under the shower for a while. I scrub all of the gel and makeup off of me, and try to let the water wash away the stress and confusion. It doesn't work. Pulling on some slacks and a black shirt, I slowly and quietly make my way up to the roof.

Once there, I plonk to the ground, sticking my head between my knees. I breath in and out slowly, trying to regain control of my breathing.

_Breathe Peeta. Come on. You're fine._

As the cool of the tiles seeps into my pants, I lay down, marvelling at the feel of the coolness against my skin. Finally, I allow my mind to soar.

_My name is Peeta Mellark._

_I was reaped for the 74__th__ Annual Hunger Games._

_My District partner is Katniss Everdeen, the girl I love._

_I announced my love for her nationally, and yet somehow, she still doesn't know. She thinks it's a ploy, just a plan._

_All I want is for Katniss to return home._

_My plan was to get the careers attention, for them to believe I know where Katniss would be in the Arena._

_It worked._

_Tomorrow marks the beginning of my inevitable death._

I sigh. Finally, the pounding in my head lessens.

I sit for hours, pondering on things such as the arena or possible faults in my plan. What if the Careers are playing a trick; that they are going to lead Katniss to me somehow? What if, as soon as I approach them, they kill me? How am I even going to tell them that I want to team up with them? What is the Arena going to be? A desolate wasteland? A dessert?

A sort of muffled cheering breaks my line of thought. I sit up, pausing to try and place the sound. I get up, moving to peer over the edge of the railing. What I see surprises me.

Hundreds of people seem to have gathered in the streets, dancing, screaming, laughing, all dressed in vibrant colours. It takes me a moment to realize that some of them are dressed as the tributes. The unmistakable glow of fire is seen as someone attempts to replicate Katniss and my opening ceremony costume. I cringe.

"You should be getting some sleep."

I jump, but I don't turn around. I know the voice. I have since I was five. And she's right. In a few hours, I will be fighting for my life.

Well, Katniss's really.

I shake my head slightly, the tiredness I didn't know I was feeling suddenly sweeping forward on me.

"I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all." I say. Katniss joins me at the railing, the bare skin on her arm brushes mine, giving me goose bumps. I shiver.

"Are they is costumes?" she asks, and I smirk.

"Who could tell?" I answer, laughing quietly. "With all the crazy clothes they wear here. Couldn't sleep, either?"

"Couldn't turn my mind off," she says. I know the feeling.

"Thinking about your family?" I ask, but immediately my mind flickers to Gale.

"No," she says. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." I nod, fiddling with the bandages on my hands.

"I really am sorry about your hands," she says, looking at them sadly. The sincerity in her voice makes my heart skip a beat.

"It doesn't matter Katniss," I say, dismissing it. "I've never really been a contender in these Games anyway," I sigh.

"That's no way to be thinking," she says, looking at me oddly.

"Why not? It's true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself and..." I break off. That was close. I come so close to saying "...and protect you."

I doubt she would have taken that kindly.

"And what?" she asks. I sigh again in frustration. Not at Katniss, but at myself.

"I don't know how to say it exactly. Only... I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" I ask. She shakes her head. "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster I'm not."

She bits her lip. This would be so much easier if I could say 'I don't want the Games to change me. I want to still be me. That's why I am teaming up with the Careers. A sort of final act that is still like me, not what the Capitol want.'

But of course, Katniss can't know that, which makes this increasingly harder.

"Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" she asks.

Will I kill anyone? I'm not sure if I could. Of course, if there is a threat, I will defend myself, but killing someone in cold blood?

Well, I won't go down without a fight.

"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight," I say, echoing my thoughts. "Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to... to show that Capitol they don't own me."

Except I have.

"That I'm more than just a piece in their Games." I say. I can't help but feel that the conversation has become a lot more meaningful after my words.

"But you're not," she says. "None of us are. That's how the Games work."

"Ok, but within that framework, there's still you, and there's still me," I insist. "Don't you see?"

"A little. Only... no offence, but who cares, Peeta?" she says.

Ouch.

"I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" I ask angrily. I search her beautiful gray eyes for an answer, hoping to God that she says 'me.'

But she doesn't.

She takes a step back, warily. "Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive." She says. I smile mockingly at her, annoyed.

"Ok. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart." I say. I know I'm being harsh, but I'm too angry to care. Besides, if she doesn't like me, it'll make what I have to do easier.

"Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve." She says.

That's the plan, Katniss.

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do," I say sarcastically. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"

"Count on it," she says. I can hear her soft foot falls as she leaves. I sigh.

I was harsh; harsh and rude. I'll apologise when I see her in the morning. I look back out at the still raging streets with disgust. It's all because of them. Because they just want a show.

Yawning, I trudge back to my room, flopping down on the bed in a heap.

I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow.

I don't even see Katniss when I wake up, so I can't apologise to her. Portia comes before dawn and gives me some simple pants and light tee to wear. They take me back to the roof, as I panic at what I'm wearing. It's not much protection, and it doesn't give too much away about the arena.

A hovercraft appears and a ladder drops down, and as soon as I step on, I'm frozen in place. I panic; I can't move anything, which I'm sort of glad for as they lift me up to the hovercraft. When we are inside, a man in a white coat appears at my side, carrying a syringe. I cringe. I hate needles.

"It's just your Tracker," the man says gruffly. He pulls the sleeve back on my shirt and inserts the needle, and I wince at the sharp stab of pain.

Once Portia is collected off of the roof, we are lead by an avox into a room where breakfast has been laid out. I scoff as much food as I can, without making myself sick. Portia sips a rose petal soup slowly, watching me. I shrug my shoulders at her.

Any food is vital. About half an hour later, we land, and we are led back to the ladder.

We're near the arena. My hands start to shake with nerves. I know what I have to do in the arena, I have for a while. But knowing you are going to die in the next few days is still a bit nerve racking.

Maybe even in the next few hours. I shudder as we are lead into an individual catacomb that lies beneath the arena. We arrive at my preparation room, or the Launch Room as the Capitol like to call it. I shower, washing myself thoroughly. I doubt they will have showers in the Arena.

Damn. I was kind of getting used to them.

After I clean my teeth, Portia helps me with what are actually our Arena clothes. Portia hears my sigh of relief.

"What? You'd think I'd let you go into an Arena on live television looking like that?" she says winking at me, gesturing to the clothes that I had put back on. Even though Portia had no say in my outfit, it still calms me that what I was put in before is not my Arena outfit.

Portia helps me assemble the outfit; simply trousers, green shirt, a sturdy belt, and a thin hooded black jacket.

"The jacket's designed to reflect body heat. Pretty neat huh?" Portia says, zipping up the jacket.

"Yeah. I guess it's going to be cold then." I say shrewdly.

I lace up the boots, which I hate. They are soft and flexible, not strong and sturdy like my boots at home. Portia steps back and gives me the once over. She smiles.

"All set. Are you comfortable?" she asks. I move around a bit, shaking out my limbs.

I realise with a start that I'm shaking.

"It's fine." I say. An awkward silence falls again, both of us unwilling to talk. I suck in a breath.

"Portia...I...thank you...for everything..." I rasp out. She nods, and embraces me. I hug her back, resting my forehead on her shoulder. I never really had someone like this, who was open to hugs or comfort. So that's where we stand, waiting for my inevitable death I suppose.

My nerves seep into terror as an annoyingly pleasant voice announces the expected.

"You ready?" Portia asks.

"As I'll ever be, I guess." I say. I walk over to the circular metal plate, and firmly place my feet shoulder width a part, facing Portia. I smile reassuringly at her.

Well, I hope it's reassuring.

A glass cylinder slowly lowers down, and Portia seems to panic, contemplating whether or not to say something.

She does.

"I know what your plan is Peeta!" she says, watching the cylinder. I look at her in shock. How does she know?

"And I think you are so-..." But the rest of her words are cut off as the cylinder closes around me. She thinks I'm what? Smart? An idiot? Portia puts a hand up to the glass, and mouths one word at me.

'Brave.'

I place my hand against the glass, and smile at her. I mouth a word back to her.

'Goodbye.'

It seems, with a glass tube separating us, we can come up with a lot more to say than before.

The plate beneath me starts to push me up, and my heart starts to sputter with fear. The pounding in my head is so loud, I'm surprised Portia couldn't hear it from the other side of the glass. Suddenly, I feel open air around me, and my eyes are blinded momentarily by the bright sunlight. There is a strong gust of wind, and the familiar smell of forest hits me. It reminds me so much of District Twelve that it hurts.

Forest. Good. Forest is good. Katniss will be fine.

Claudius Templesmith's legendary announcement booms all around me, making my stomach hurl up to my throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

**Wow. So close! This is by far the longest chapter I have ever written! Thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed;**

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**TMG**


	15. Games: Day 1 and 2

Chapter 15

I do not own the Hunger Games. The characters and Panem belongs to Suzanne Collins. I am just enjoying playing in her sandpit for a while.

Day 1 & 2

When I was around seven, my father had an accident. I remember hearing a loud crash and something whacking against the walls, louder than anything I had ever heard before. I was terrified, so on instinct I followed the sound.

My father had fallen down the stairs.

I ran to where he was lying, my mother snapping instructions at my brothers. But not me; I just stood there. My heart was pounding in my ears, and it was all I could hear; the quick, nervous thudding staccato. I was anxious; my father was unconscious, and I had no idea what to do. So I stood there, helplessly, waiting for something to happen. Never again had I been so petrified, that I couldn't even move.

Until now; standing here, waiting for the sixty seconds to end.

I can't begin to explain what my heart is doing, and I hope Portia doesn't mind, but I think I left my stomach down with her. This was nothing like what I had imagined. Had I sat up at night trying to picture how this day might turn out, sure I had. I imagined all the different scenarios I could muster, and how it would feel. But none of it could have possibly prepared me.

I never would have thought to remember my father's accident. But I should have. Standing here now is a lot like it was then; being petrified with fear, your heartbeat louder than you thought possible. But worse.

So much worse.

Sixty seconds is not that long, theoretically, but when you realise that this sixty seconds is the last time that you will ever **know, **really **know **that you won't be dead in the next minute; you try to draw out each moment.

Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes, finally adjusting to the harsh sun, the familiar sight of a forest meeting my gaze.

Well, it's definitely not a cake.

I sigh with relief; I was right; a forest. Katniss should be fine. Well, as fine as you can, given the circumstances. I focus on my breathing, synchronising each intake and exhale with the countdown. I look around at the tributes circling the famous Cornucopia, all standing in varying positions of nervousness, confidence and utter terror. The Cornucopia spirals around the food, water, weapons, medicine, garments, tents and fire starters that no doubt the Careers will claim after the slaughter.

Meaning I need to clear out. That's my plan. I clear out, get away. Once the bloodbath is over, I approach the careers, and accept. That way, I won't have to kill anyone. Maybe I might even distract them for a while, give Katniss some time to get away. Seems like a pretty decent plan to me. But I'm tempted. I'm tempted to run to the Cornucopia, grab some supplies and flee, maybe meet up with Katniss. But images of my dream swarm me, and I quickly shake my head. I have to do this. For her.

But where will I hide out?

We're on a flat, open stretch of ground. A plain of hard packed dirt. Behind the tributes across from me, a bit to my left, I can see nothing, meaning either a steep downwards slope, or maybe even a cliff. I'm hoping for the former. To my right lies a lake. To my left and back is a sparse piney wood. That is where Katniss will go.

Wait.

Where's Katniss?

10. 9. 8.

The countdown rings out clearly through the plain, ringing in my ears as I search for Katniss. I spot her; about five tributes to my left. Too far for me to run, and I am nowhere near quick enough to get to her before she's in the woods. But, by the look on her face, and the way she's preparing to run to the Cornucopia, I doubt she's heading to the woods.

7. 6. 5. 4.

Realisation settles over me, and it makes me sick. Well, that and my nerves, fear, and the ever descending countdown. I shake my head frantically at her. She can't do this! She can't get caught up in the slaughter! She catches my eye, and I know she see's my frenetic head shaking. The confusion is clear on her face.

3. 2. 1.

The gong rings out, and I am too preoccupied by Katniss to run. She shuffles for a moment, confused and annoyed. I made her miss her chance. Why the hell would she run there anyway? I look over, and I see it; a bow and arrow.

I turn back to her, but she's gone. Seconds pass as I recklessly search for her, my eyes scanning the field. I see a swish of a braid and a bright orange backpack before it disappears into the woods, and I know. She's out of here.

Its then do I realise that I'm not out of here, I'm still standing on my podium. My stomach lurches, and I wonder what I look like to my family back home. What would they think, seeing me, just standing here?

A girl, the one from six, seems to notice my immobility, and she heads towards me, a spear raised and ready. But she stumbles, falls, spluttering blood on the ground, a knife protruding her back. It's the girl from two, Clove.

Again.

I run. Faster than I ever have before, even faster than I had at my father's accident. I stumble and trip, and somehow I acquire a piece of bread left near the body of the boy from nine. I keep running.

I turn quickly to check my position, and I'm about fifty metres from the majority of the bloodbath. A dozen or so tributes are hacking away at one another at the horn. Several lie dead already on the ground. Those who are smart enough to take flight are disappearing into the trees or into the void opposite me. As I look, something slams into my head, and I fall, my vision blurring. I roll over, and the blurry outline of the boy from seven stands over me. I shuffle backwards desperately, but he lunges, his short sword making contact with my forearm, making my eyes blur once again. The warmth of my blood flows down my arm, similar to the already flowing patch from the blow to my head.

Seven lunges again, punching me right in the eye. I swing a fist in retaliation, a dull thud confirming my hit. He staggers backwards, clutching his jaw, the grey hue of his eyes flashing. He lunges again, and he lands on top of me, pinning my hands above my head. He brings his sword around as I struggle, lashing my feet aggressively. I squirm and flay, all the while thinking that this can't be it. It can't be over so quickly.

A sickening crack sounds as he falls on me, the impact knocking the air out of my lungs. At first, I think I've won somehow, that I miraculously hit him hard enough to kill him. But when I see the arrow stuck in the back of his skull, I retch, vomiting up my breakfast over the front of my jacket.

It definitely wasn't my kill.

I'm stuck under the dead weight of seven, and I struggle to free myself. Glimmer, the girl from one, has noticed I'm still alive, and is already stringing another arrow. I shove seven off of me, disentangling myself. Retching again as the gushing blood from his skull mingles with my vomit, I stagger to my feet, and I run.

I don't stop running, tripping, falling, struggling, crawling, anything to get away. It's not long before I reach the edge of the forest, and I stumble further until the damp shade of the forest conceals me from the bloodbath. The scarce pine trees that lined the clearing had begun to evolve, unnoticed by me, and the pines are beginning to intermix with a variety of trees, some I recognise from District 12. Knowing the pines would barely hold my weight, I search desperately for a place to hide.

After about an hour of searching the now dense forest, I find a sturdy tree, not to high, but not low enough for tributes on the ground to see me. I reach a hand up to start climbing when suddenly a wall of nausea overwhelms me. I fall to the ground, hurling up all of the food I so desperately consumed this morning. I guess the last few days of gorging myself didn't pay off after all.

Groaning, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve. The acidic burn of my throat from the running and the vomit makes me so thirsty it hurts. I start to climb, slipping and falling over and over, until I finally reach an obscured branch. I clutch it with shaking hands, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Probably not the best idea in an arena full of kids trying to kill me, but I guess I need a moment to steady myself. I slow my breathing, focusing on the sounds of my breath rather than the distant sounds of clashing metal and screams. The stench of blood and vomit fill my nose, and I shake of my jacket, laying it over the branch behind me. Slowly, I start to calm down, but my hands still quiver slightly.

I can't help but wonder if I'm on screen right now. I doubt it. There are so many deaths to show the first day that an injured, sick tribute waiting out the massacre in a tree isn't much to look at. But I guess what I'm planning to do in a few hours will provide enough screen time for a while. A betrayal; perfect Capitol drama.

My head pounds, and I attentively raise my hand to the back of my head, hissing as it gently prod the tender and raw wound; seems as if seven sliced my head open pretty deeply. My arm stings a lot, and I look through my belongings to see if I have anything to stop the bleeding. All I have is a loaf of bread, and I'm in no rush to ruin that. I notice a decent sized twig branching off near my spot, and I quickly snap it off, leaving a ragged stump. Knowing I will probably regret it later when I am freezing, I grab my jacket. Using the stump, I hack at the sleeve until it comes away from the body of the coat, and I rip it into a long strip of cloth. Carefully, I tie the piece around my head, pulling tight to add pressure, doing the same to my sliced forearm.

I'm not exactly sure when I became a healer, but I guess I'm glad. I shuffle backwards until I'm leaning back against the trunk of the tree, and I lay my head back. It's been what, two hours? And already I've got a head injury, a sliced arm, probably a lot of bruises, limited food, no water and no weapons.

I'm going well, aren't I?

As I re-adjust my makeshift head bandage, my vision spins. I cling to the trunk as the ground spins below me, and very suddenly, night falls in the arena.

_There's fire; everywhere. It's like a wall of flame that I can't escape, no matter how hard and fast I run. It closes in on me, the heat scorching my flesh, and I scream. I scream her name. Katniss. It's an apology; an apology for not being able to help her. It's when I call her name one last time that I hear it. A loud booming cannon that can no doubt mean my death. But why can I hear my own cannon? Another goes off, and another. Eleven times. How many people died in the fire?_

_I feel the pain again, the blazing flames, but instead of feeling it all over my body, it slowly moves inwards, as if shrinking into one part of my body; my throat. The scorching sensation is almost too much to bear. I cry out, but no sound comes out. It intensifies, and hot tears pour down my cheeks from the pain._

_I want it to stop. It has to be over soon. I scream and cry out, but there is nothing. Even the flames don't make a sound anymore. It's as if, suddenly, there is nothing left in the world to hear. _

I jolt awake, sitting up too quickly and forgetting where I am. I lose my balance and tumble off the branch, plummeting to the ground below. With a thump I land, panting as the moisture from the cool night air seeps through my thin shirt.

Wait... the night air?

I sit up again, careful to not agitate my injuries, to find that night has fallen. How much time has passed? How many tributes were killed? What happened?

I slowly stand up, wincing as I put pressure on my right leg; I must have landed on it the wrong way. I lean heavily against the tree trunk for support as I search my pockets to find the bread. I need the energy for the walk I'm about to make and it's all I've got. I take a bite, but swallowing is like shoving a white hot coal down my throat. I retch again, and cough, blood dribbling messily down my chin. I swipe it away, pick up my coat, and stumble in the general direction of the careers.

It's what I have got to do.

For Katniss.

I don't get too far before the anthem plays, preceding the death recap. I look up, and through the branches I see the seal of the Capitol, quickly replaced by the simple head shots of the deceased tributes. Steeling what's left of my hope I wait, praying that I don't see Katniss's face in the sky tonight.

The first to appear is the girl from District 3, meaning the Career tributes from 1 and 2 have all survived. Then the boy from 4...It's strange. Usually all the careers make it through the first day. That means that there are five careers; both from 1 and 2, and the girl from 4. Next is the boy from 5, both from 6 and 7. I shiver as I remember the girl from six running towards me, and the knife sticking out of her lifeless body. And then there is seven; ruthless, burly seven, who died on top of me. Shivering, I look up to see the boy from 8 and both from 9. Following them is the girl from 10. I hold my breath. Who else?

But nothing follows. That's it. The Capitol seal is back with a final musical flourish. Then darkness and the sounds of the forest resume.

She's alive. I breathe a sigh of relief.

I take off again. Moving through the forest is a lot more difficult during the night. I stumble and fall, and my injuries don't help whatsoever. No doubt the careers will probably hear me before they see me. With no track or clues to guide me, I make my way in the general direction from which I came. It takes longer than it did to get to the tree I was in, and by the time I see a faint glow of a fire glinting off the metal of the cornucopia, about two hours have passed. Moving past the line of trees, I'm out in the open, and I feel vulnerable.

What I expected to see, was a camp. All the supplies sorted and stacked, tents or shelters set up, a few fires, crate after crate of food. But I was far from it.

The field was very similar to how I left it, minus the scattered bodies of tributes. The cornucopia seems to have all its supplies picked clean, but that is the only noticeable change. The Career tributes stand around the pile of supplies, seeming to be bickering. The boy from 2 interrupts them with a harsh bark like warning, and immediately they stop.

Obviously, he's in charge.

There seems to be a decent shelter set up beside the mound of supplies, but nothing to the extent I thought it would be. Honestly, right now, the Career tributes look vulnerable. I take a deep breath, and limp further into the clearing, gathering all the courage and bravery I can. I overhear a part of their conversation as I make my way towards them.

"I can build a better structure. Just give me some time.." states the boy from 1, Marvel.

"We don't have time!" barks the girl from 4. "We have to start hunting the other tributes. The less time they have to become accustomed to their surroundings, the better."

"I agree with Wellwood," says the girl from 1, Glimmer. Marvel glowers at her.

"My name is Domitia!" growls the girl from 4. Glimmer rolls her eyes.

"Whatever." Glimmer mutters. "Domitia Wellwood is a stupid name anyway."

"Oh, and Glimmer Elphinstone is any better?" Domitia snaps.

"Shut up. Both of you," snarls the girl from 2, Clove.

"Listen. We need to come up with a plan. We can't all just leave and hunt the other tributes, because they'll just snatch our supplies. Then where'll we be?" states Cato.

"So what do you suppose we do?" sneers Domitia.

"I think I can help with that," I say, finally announcing my presence. The reaction is immediate. Each career lunges for their weapons, standing defensively. If I wasn't possibly about to die, I'd find it almost comical. Glimmer has an arrow trained on my heart, glaring at me, while Marvel looks like he is about 2 seconds away from releasing his spear into my skull. Clove has her knives trained on me, while Domitia raises her short sword, standing ever so slightly behind Cato.

Cato, whose sword isn't raised, smirks at me.

"Well, lover boy, what do you suppose we do?" he asks, he gaze mischievous.

"Well," I start; bravery I didn't know I had coming forward. "First, I would accept your offer. I mean, you want to find Katniss, right? And who better to help you find her than me." Glimmer scowls at me, and Domitia glares.

"Then, I'd grab some water, because I am completely parched, and I doubt I'd be able to help you find Katniss if I pass out from dehydration, am I right? After that, I'd suggest that one person stays with Marvel here, who seems pretty enthusiastic about building a shelter, which we will no doubt need. That way, the food can be protected as well." I say smirking, waiting for any of the tributes to agree.

They don't. I suppress a sigh of frustration.

"Then the rest of us would go and search for Tributes, while also looking for Katniss. While we're gone, the other two can set up camp." I continue. No doubt the Capitol will be gobbling this all up.

I wait; nothing. They all stand there, as if contemplating whether or not I'm telling the truth. Just as I think they aren't going to let me in, Cato has me pinned against the cornucopia, his sword against my throat.

"Listen here, Loverboy. We may need you to find _her_," he says, spitting. "But one move that puts any of us in danger, I won't hesitate to hack off your legs. Got it?"

I nod, bravery gone. He releases me, and holds out his hand. I shake it. I look over his shoulder to see Clove, Glimmer and Marvel smirking. They seem to like their decision on picking their leader. Domitia, on the other hand, doesn't. She frowns at Cato, then back at me. Then it dawns on me. She wasn't in the elevator when the rest of the Careers offered me a truce. No wonder she's cautious.

Marvel throws me a canteen of water, and I chug it down in seconds. Just as I predicted; they need me alive. Domitia grudgingly cleans my wounds, not carefully I might add, and re-bandages them. I watch as Domitia glowers at Clove, who is laughing with Cato about something. I roll my eyes. It seems I'm not the only Loverboy around here. So Clove and Domitia both like Cato. I suppress a laugh. This will be an interesting couple of days.

Glimmer sits heavily on a crate next to Domitia, and watches as Marvel begins to build a shelter. The supplies were moved by Marvel into a pyramid of sorts, and all of the ropes, poles, tarps and fabrics are put aside for shelter.

"Who's going to stay with me? I might need a hand with the shelter." Marvel states. Everyone looks around at each other, waiting for someone to volunteer. Cato won't. He will hunt, no questions asked. Obviously I can't. I'm leading the hunters to Katniss. Domitia will no doubt follow Cato where ever he goes, the same with Clove. Glimmer, realising this, sighs.

"I'll stay," she says, moving with Marvel to help move a pole into position. They start a conversation, and it's not long before they are laughing together. We're just about to move off to hunt when Domitia stops suddenly.

"Wait," she says, eyeing me sceptically. "What about him?"

"What about him?" Clove asks, confused.

"He needs a weapon."

Crap.

"Well, what's your weapon?" Cato asks, moving back over to me. He raises an eyebrow at me cynically. "We have a lot to pick from."

"Ah..." I stutter. What's my weapon? They know I'm strong, but there is no real weapon for that. I'm alright with a spear, but I guess that can stay my secret, just in case.

"Knives," I state, not too convincingly. Clove falters, and Cato raises and eyebrow at me once again.

"Show us," Domitia says, smirking.

She _really _doesn't like me.

Clove hands me a knife, and I shuffle it in my hand a bit, before turning and aiming at the supplies. I see a crate overflowing with fruit, and I aim for the wood. I throw as hard as I can, but I miss. It hits the fruit, piercing what looks like some kind of apple, and sticking it to the wooden crate behind it. I prepare myself for the humiliation of missing my target, but when I turn, I see impressed expressions eyeing the knife. Even Glimmer and Marvel stopped to look. _They think I was actually aiming for the fruit. _Clove fetches the knife, and Cato slaps my back.

"Nice shot," he says, smirking. I laugh feebly back, still astonished by my luck.

"Let's head to the woods. Last I saw of her, she was heading this way, and she mentioned in training that she would stick to a forest if there was one." I say. It's a lie, she never said that. But I need to convince them somehow.

"A lot of tributes went in there as well. We'll most likely find one or two pretty quickly in there." Cato says.

We move towards the woods, my newly acquired set of knives clinking at my waist. We are just about to enter the forest when a crash sounds to our left, as a figure stumbles into the clearing.

"Well that was quick," sneers Clove.

Cato lunges forward, tackling the figure to the ground. It's a boy, the one from District 3. He looks weak and tiny underneath Cato's hefty frame. He is whimpering something, but I can't make it out. Clove, Domitia and I move over to Cato, who is holding his sword to the boys throat, just like he did to me earlier. The closer I move, the easier it becomes to hear what he is saying.

"I can help! Please, give me a chance to show you-"

"Why should I do that?" growls Cato.

"The mines!" whimpers the boy from 3. Cato looks up at us, confusion evident on his features.

"What the hell are you on about?" hisses Domitia.

"The mines! The ones from the launch plates. They deactivated after sixty seconds. I can reactivate them! I can set up booby traps for you!" he cries, desperation clouding his gaze.

"What makes you think you can do that?" Clove asks incredulous.

"I used to work in the factories at home; with the explosives."

We exchange glances, obviously searching for an answer. Clove gives a small nod to Cato, who releases the boy. He clambers to his feet, and dusts himself off.

"What do we call you?" I ask. He looks at me, as if noticing me for the first time. He seems confused, obviously not understanding why I'm with the Careers. Not many people do.

"Tiberius," he mumbles. "Tiberius Thorburn."

"Well Tiberius, let's see it then." Says Cato.

In the next hour, we watch as Tiberius digs up a few of the explosives from the launch pads, and as he sits, carefully pulling them apart and reassembling them. When he digs a hole a fair way away from the supplies and buries the mine, he retreats, throwing a rock from a reasonable distance. We watch as it erupts, dirt flying in a small explosion.

"If that is set off by a tribute, they'll be blown sky high," sneers Cato. Tiberius turns back to us, smiling slightly.

"If these are set in a pattern, or in a way that only we remember, then only we can get through. What if we set them around the supplies? That way we won't have to worry about leaving all the time. If they are set at a distance that won't cause a chain reaction, anyone who tries to steal from our supplies will die in the explosion." Clove states.

"Clove, you are a genius!" Cato exclaims, smirking at her. She smiles back, and Domitia scowls. I roll my eyes. Cato reaches out and thumps Tiberius on the back.

"You stay here with Marvel and set the booby trap, and help Marvel were he needs it. Teach him the pattern, and show us when we get back. Got it?" Cato asks. Tiberius nods. Cato calls out for Glimmer, who grabs her bow and rushes towards us.

This time, when we start to leave, we actually get into the forest without an interruption. We walk, Cato in front, followed by myself, giving the occasional direction or information about Katniss. Clove follows me, impatiently pushing me forwards when I stagger on my injured leg. Glimmer follows Clove, her bow strung and ready. Domitia brings up the rear, her short sword raised, but her eyes trained on Cato's back.

We walk like that for 2 hours, non-stop. I start to get tired, having no real sleep besides passing out yesterday. It's just before dawn when Glimmer suggests we head back and get some rest. It's then that we hear it.

_Snap!_

It's the sound of a breaking branch. Cato holds a hand up to silence us, turning his head slightly to hear clearer, like a true hunter.

_Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!_

It's coming from about a hundred metres to our left. Cato crouches down, and we do the same. We slowly make our way towards the sound, and my heart starts to pound. What if it's a trap?

We pause when we see a small spark, followed by a small fire that blooms slowly. I hear a snicker behind me; one of the girls. Cato turns and glares, silencing the perpetrator.

My heart stops. What if it's Katniss? Would she honestly start a fire in the middle of the night when she knows people will be hunting her? Off course she wouldn't.

We move forward again, gaining some ground until Cato orders us to stop. At about fifty metres from the tribute, we wait. My legs start to cramp, and I can tell Domitia and Glimmer are growing restless, but we still wait. Finally after about 45 minutes, Cato nods at us. It's the sign.

Go.

We run towards the tribute, our boots pounding on the forest floor. We are in no way quiet, but we are on the tribute before she can even escape. Cato grabs her hair and pulls her to her feet.

"Please," she begs. "Please don't, I'll help you! Please just let me go!"

She looks at me. It's as if she knows that I'm the humane one; the one who won't kill her. Domitia looks at me too, as if realising the same thing. She narrows her eyes at me. In a blink of an eye, she moves, bringing her short sword to the girl's abdomen.

"Cato, let me." She snarls, glowering at the girl. District 8, I place her. Cato glances at Domitia, before backing off. Before I can even breathe, she's thrusting the sword through the girl, withdrawing only when blood starts to pool around the wound. The girl's agonised screams are grotesque, and I wince slightly.

Glimmer and Cato laugh, the sound strange given the situation. Clove offers her congratulations, but it's obvious that she is not too happy about Domitia's kill. When Domitia looks at me expectantly, I smirk and congratulate her, but it feels wrong. As if the words are foreign to my lips.

"Twelve down and eleven to go!" cries Cato, and Domitia and Clove both cheer him on before glaring at each other. We start to check the poor girl for supplies, but any food she had has been ruined from the blood, and she had no weapons or water.

"Probably wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway," mutters Glimmer. Clove murmurs her agreement.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," Cato says. It's times like this where I wonder if he even has any humanity. We murmur our assent, and start to move. The adrenaline from the kill seems to fuel the other Careers, as they are no longer in need of sleep. They decide to keep searching, and I grudgingly agree.

But after a few minutes Glimmer stops.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" she asks, looking at us questioningly.

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately." Cato says.

"Unless she isn't dead," Clove says smirking.

"She's dead. I stuck her myself," Domitia sneers, glaring daggers at Clove.

"Then where's the cannon?" Clove challenges, stepping towards Domitia.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done." Glimmer suggests.

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," Clove snickers, leering at Domitia.

"I said she's dead!" exclaims Domitia, shoving Clove in the shoulder. The two shove each other, shouting profanities in each other's face, while Cato and Glimmer attempt to break them up. I roll my eyes again.

"We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!" I shout, stopping them. Domitia looks at me suspiciously, surprise that I would even suggest myself killing the girl.

So am I.

Immediately I regret saying it, because now I'm required to take a life. Now I'm required to become a piece in the Capitols games.

Great.

"Go on then, Lover Boy," says Cato. "See for yourself." Domitia looks at Cato approvingly, while Clove glares.

I turn and make my way back to the dying fire, and the dying girl. My leg, aching from exertion, makes me stumble again, but when I get there, the whimper of the girl hurts more than my leg. I make my way over to her, crouching down next to her. I move her head into my lap, and I softly shift her hair out of her tear streaked face. She stares wide eyed up at me, her face contorted in pain and confusion. She whimpers again, a hand clutching her blood stained stomach.

"Shhh" I tell her. "It's going to be okay. It's all over now. It'll stop soon." She winces as I shift her head slightly, pulling a long twig out of her hair.

As inhumane as it sounds, if she doesn't die soon, the Careers will come looking. And I doubt they'd take too nicely to me comforting another tribute. But I know I won't be able to hurt her.

I look down at her, and her up at me.

"You're free now," I tell her. She smiles slightly at me through the pain, and it's not long before she closes her eyes. Her breath is still coming in harsh inhales and exhales. I carefully move her head down to the ground, and I retreat back to the Careers.

When I reach the small clearing, they stand waiting for me.

"Was she dead?" Cato asks.

"No." I say, and Clove smirks. "But she is now." The sudden boom of a cannon confirms my words, and a small part of me is relieved for the girl. "Ready to move on?" I ask. We do, as dawn begins to break, and birdsong fills the air. But all I can think of is envy.

How I envy the girl who is free.

**So, longest chapter yet! Please don't hate me. I had so much going on, about 50 exams (I exaggerate a lot) but I have finished school for the year and I have about 2 months off now. So that means a lot of updates!**

**Thank you to everyone that reviewed the last chapter, I really appreciate it! I will mention you and the people who review this chapter in the next update.**

**Obviously, due to the time I've got, I will most likely be working on and updating the next chapter in the next few days, so if you want me to update then, let me know in a review ;) Almost 200 reviews! How exciting! :D I hope you enjoyed the one and a bit days of Peeta's games. I'm very sorry if it didn't meet your standards or it wasn't what you were expecting. But I hope it wasn't too bad. **

**Just a question- Who should Cato be with? Clove of Domitia? **

**Thanks & love,**

**TMG**


	16. Games: Day 2 and 3

Chapter 16

I do not own the Hunger Games. The characters and Panem belongs to Suzanne Collins. I am just enjoying playing in her sandpit for a while.

Day 2 & 3.

We didn't find any tributes for the rest of the day. After we found the girl from District 8, we hunted for hours. The fatigue that hit the Careers earlier had disappeared, leaving them determined and ready for another kill. I was in pure agony using my injured leg, but I didn't complain. Any sign of weakness and the Careers would think me useless. The cuts on my arms stung when droplets of sweat rolled down from my neck, and I was exhausted, but I kept going. It was overwhelming, my injuries, the careers, Katniss; all of the events over the last 30 or so hours engulfing me in a haze. I stumbled a lot, having to catch myself on the trees that surrounded us. Clove behind me grew impatient long ago, jabbing me in the back whenever I staggered.

By the time the sun was setting again, we were back at the camp. What we returned to surprised me. Tiberius was bustling around a makeshift table, bolts, wires and junk scattered in front of him. Marvel however, was relaxing in the best set up I had ever seen. All of the supplies had been piled in a pyramid in the centre of the field, surrounded by patchy areas of land where the mines were buried. Off to the side, a few metres away from the supplies, was a small cluster of sleeping bags, hanging tarps, poles and crates, creating a small but efficient place to rest. The Careers celebrated, each claiming a space as their own and making them selves comfortable, before ordering Tiberius to bring them some food from the supplies. Before I arrived at the camp, Cato decided to only use small rations of food at a time, resulting in my constant hunger. I sat down a little further away from the Careers, finally resting my leg. As I stretched it out in front of myself, Tiberius appeared at my side, nervously handing me a bottle of water and some rice crackers. I smiled and thanked him, but he scattered off before I could say anything else. The sun set behind the trees, enclosing the Arena in darkness. Glimmer built a fire, which was quickly surrounded by the Careers. They laughed and joked, their crude jests about the other tributes making me cringe.

"When we find her, who gets to kill her?" Clove asked. I had no doubt about who 'Her' was. "Because, I think I should. I can take her out with one of my knifes before she gets too close."

Domita scoffs.

"Oh, right. The same way you did in the beginning? Your knives are useless. I should do it, I can sneak up on her." Domita says proudly.

"No. You guys are forgetting that she's smart. She'll hear you coming, Domita." Glimmer says.

"Exactly," Cato mutters. "No matter who does it, she'll know we're coming. She's smart. What did you think? That she got that eleven from skill? I don't think so."

I was about to interrupt, to tell them that that was exactly what she did, but I was interrupted by the Capitol anthem. The Careers went quiet, watching as the Capitol seal lit up the Arena. The girl from District 8 appeared, which brought cheers from the group around the fire. I stared up at her, the poor girl, who became a piece in the games, just like me. I closed my eyes against the sting of tears. She didn't deserve to die.

Not long after the anthem finished, the Careers grew tired again, but none were willing to fall asleep at the same time.

"We need someone to take watch. I don't trust Lover Boy." Clove said, sneering at me.

"I'll do it," Marvel said. "I'm not that tired."

"Fine. Marvel, wake Clove in 3 hours, she'll take the next watch," Cato said, ending the discussion.

Marvel grabbed his spear before walking away from the group. From there he wandered in loops around the sight, eyes trained on the forestry surrounding the area. Eventually the Career's breathes evened out, as they all fell into an easy slumber. Glimmer was the only one still awake, her eyes following Marvel's movements closely. Cato, flanked both sides by both Domita and Clove, snored softly, clutching his sword to his chest. Both Domita and Clove seemed quite contempt with their positions, the only evidence of the Games being the weapons that was in their grasp.

I didn't sleep much during the second night. I was exhausted, and yet sleep eluded me. Before the Games, the very thought of Katniss was enough to keep me awake long into the night. But now, it's the nightmares. Before the reaping, I lived in one. Sleeping brought solitude, an escape, but now there is no escape. When I close my eyes, I see Katniss dying. When I open my eyes, I see the Games. It's torture. Stuck in the Careers camp, only 48 hours into the Games, and yet It felt like I'd been here for weeks.

When Clove swapped with Marvel, I noticed Tiberius slip away from the group. I sat up to see what he was doing; only to see a silhouette in the darkness. As I was about to settle back and attempt to sleep, I noticed Tiberius's shoulders were shaking. I was up and moving before I could even think about what I was doing.

He jumped when I sat down beside him, quickly moving to wipe his tears away.

"It's okay," I whispered, "I'm scared too."

His shoulders sagged as he let out a whimper, before his tears began to flow freely. I sat with him, facing the forest. I didn't try to comfort him. I knew he didn't want that. But knowing that someone was there, someone who wasn't trying to kill him, helped. A cool breeze blew across the area, which made goose bumps rise on my arms. The fire had long ago burnt down to embers, no longer providing warmth.

My mind drifted to Katniss. Is she cold? She must be. She wouldn't light a fire, it's not safe. Did she get any protection in the pack she grabbed? Is she hurt? Tiberius sniffling next to me brought me back, and the cool breeze made me aware of the dampness of my cheeks. Tiberius stood, about to move back to his sleeping bag, but paused first.

"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely. I nodded, and he moved away. I stayed there, waiting for the sun to rise, staring at the night sky, which is where I am now. When I hear the Careers start to stir, I stand, moving to start the fire again. One by one, the Careers awake, grumbling about the time and 'not enough sleep'. Clove, Domita and Glimmer wander to the lake, taking with them some towels from the supplies, and a bar of soap. It amazes me, that in a place like this, the Capitol still includes luxuries like soap and towels. Unfortunately for Tiberius and I, Cato made it pretty clear that we weren't to use the soap. When they come back, Cato and Marvel take their turn, leaving Tiberius and I to take care of the food. Tiberius collects the food from the pile, and I set about cooking it.

It's strange, after such an explosive kick off to the Games; on day 3 it is deathly quiet. After we finish eating, Tiberius and Marvel demonstrate the path to take when getting supplies from the mound, which is difficult, with my leg being hard to manoeuvre, but not impossible. We spend the entire day in the forest again, looking for Tributes. This time we left Domita and Tiberius at the camp, which Domita wasn't exactly happy about. We search for hours, but we find no one. Cato becomes more and more frustrated, relentlessly asking me about Katniss.

"She's not good at hunting," I say, trying not to give myself away. "She won't know to cover her tracks. If we find any sign of a track or some sort of walked path, we've got her."

"Yeah, but she's smart. I saw her in the training centre, Lover Boy. I saw her setting traps, and snares," Cato all but growls.

"Yeah. For animals." I defend. I feel bad about saying these things, knowing they are all lies. I wonder what the Capitol must think. They are probably eating up the story, 'Boy loves girl, but joins the Careers to hunt her down and kill her.' I should probably be more upset about the fact that people of the Capitol must think I'm a traitor, but I'm not. Only a select few people knew about my plan, and that was the only way it would work. Everyone in District 12 knows I'm lying. Everybody knows how good Katniss is with a bow, and they know how good of a hunter she is. I take comfort in the fact that the people of District 12 know what I'm doing. They must do. According to my brother, everyone knew about my feelings for Katniss except Katniss herself. So they must know that I'm lying to protect her, to give the Careers false hope.

"Are you sure you know that much about her?" Glimmer asks me, looking at me questioningly. I raise an eyebrow at her, before staring at her determinedly.

"Positive," I say.

"And yet, here you are, helping us find her. I guess the fear of death trumps love, isn't that right Lover boy?" Clove sneers.

"I guess so." I murmur.

Glimmer and Clove laugh, the later mumbling "Pathetic," under her breathe.

"She's good with a bow, but she doesn't know her way around in a forest. She would mostly likely stick to the edge of the forest," I say. I struggle to not laugh out loud at my blatant lies, but I have to remain composed to be convincing.

"Good with a bow? Good thing I've got the only one then," Glimmer says proudly. "I bet you I'm better, anyway."

"How the bloody hell did this girl get an eleven?" Cato growls.

I laugh, picturing the look on the Gamekeepers faces after she shot at the apple.

"I don't know," I say. "She didn't tell me."

Hours later, Cato's anger has reached its maximum. He storms from the forest, cutting down branches as he goes. We follow the rather large path he leaves in his wake, back to the camp. The sun is setting again, and my lack of sleep has begun to catch up with me. Nothing at all happened today, and one look at the Careers and you can tell. They are restless. They have been trained to do this, and their urge to kill something has not been fulfilled in the last 24 hours.

When we get back to the clearing, Domita is pacing, waiting for us. She sprints up to us when she sees us, looking at Cato expectantly.

"I didn't hear a canon. What happened?" she asks. Cato storms past her, sitting down in front of the fire in a huff. I roll my eyes. Domita looks taken aback, before she hides it, hurrying away to the lake. The rest of us grab some food that Tiberius had carefully rationed and ready for us, before going to our own areas. As I stretch out my leg in my space, I bump a small mound under my sleeping bag. I shift it away, only to quickly cover it up again. Hidden under my sleeping bag is a small pile of goods from the supplies hoard; biscuits, dried fruit, an extra bottle of water and a bar of soap. My stomach grumbles at the sight of the food, and I search for Tiberius, finding him standing behind his table again. When he feels my eyes on him, he looks up quickly, smiles, and then goes back to his equipment. I smile softly to myself. It seems I've made a friend. Quickly and quietly, I put the biscuits, water and soap in my jacket pockets and tuck the dried fruit into my sleeping bag before standing.

"I'm going to the lake," I say, pausing only to grab one of the towels. Cato grunts his okay, and I move before he can change his mind. On the way there, I pass Domita coming back. She glares at me as I pass, and I roll my eyes again. When I get to the lake, I do a quick check behind me before quickly eating the biscuits. I shut my eyes, savouring the food, mentally thanking Tiberius over and over. After I finish the biscuits, I gulp a few mouthfuls of water, before stripping down. I tuck the water bottle into my jacket, grab the soap and dive in.

The water is cold, but refreshing, and I have never been so happy to have a bath. I scrub myself with the soap, being careful with my injured leg and cuts, before throwing the soap towards my clothes. As I do so, I see a shadow move across the clearing, so quickly I think I'm imagining it. A dash of orange hair, illuminated by the campfire, quickly manoeuvres the path towards the supplies, grabs a small amount before dashing off again. I laugh quietly to myself. Seems like the other Tributes aren't as dumb as the Careers expected them to be. I'm about to dip under the water when I realise how exposed I am. I have come to the lake without a weapon, and none of the Careers are particularly close. With that in mind, I scramble out of the water, dry off, change and hide the soap and water in my jacket in record time.

I was exposed, and I can't let it happen again. When I get back to the camp, I hurry to my sleeping bag, tucking the soap, water and dried fruit to the very bottom. I slip inside, trying to warm myself from the cold lake. I hear Domita offering to take first watch, and the others making themselves comfortable. I listen to Cato and Clove whispering quietly to each other, but I can't make out what they are saying. Eventually, when their breaths even out, I lose my fight to keep my eyelids open, and I drift off to sleep.

_There's fire; everywhere. Again. It's like a wall of flame that I can't escape, no matter how hard and fast I run. I panic. Not again! It closes in on me, the heat scorching my flesh, and I scream. I scream her name. Katniss. This time it's not an apology, but a warning. I don't want her to burn. She can't, she has to live. Suddenly she is standing before me, just out of reach of the tongues of fire. I scream at her to get away. I'm in agony, and she has to stay away. I scream at her again, but she starts to laugh. But it's not her laugh; it's cruel and heartless. It terrifies me. The flames engulf me completely, burning me. I want it to stop. It has to be over soon. I scream and cry out, but there is nothing. Even the flames don't make a sound anymore. It's just the cruel laughter._

When I wake, the laughter doesn't stop, and the strong smell of burning wood fills my senses. I look around in alarm, noticing that Domita is laughing, watching something with glee. Her face is lit by an eerie orange glow, and when I follow her gaze, my stomach drops.

The forest is burning.

**I know this is short! This is like a filler chapter! Not much happens, and I want to get this out of the way before the next chapter, which will be a big one!  
>So much has happened in the year that I haven't written. I got a new computer, lost the files, accidently deleted the story, miraculously found it again, family issues, got another job, lost the story again, re wrote it, finished this chapter, deleted half of it and things just got so hectic. And I'm sorry!<strong>

**I want to thank everyone who is still reading and reviewing (243!) this story, and to the followers, if there are any left who haven't given up on me, I'm so sorry, and I hope you forgive me, and will be patient with me. I love you all!**

**Let me know if you are still reading this in a review :)  
>Thank you for the support!<strong>

**Lots of love,**

**TMG**


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